


remember when we'd talk all night?

by aintguiltyy



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Denial of Feelings, Eating Disorders, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Realization, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Richie Tozier, One-Sided Attraction, Top Richie Tozier, Unrequited Love, they get their happy ending pinky promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintguiltyy/pseuds/aintguiltyy
Summary: Every time he sees Richie in someone else’s company, something aches deeply in his chest, and he can’t find any reasonable explanation for this feeling. And even if sometimes Eddie involuntarily thinks that he really might hold Richie closer to his heart than the others, it’s definitely all in his head.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 241
Collections: Labor Day Book Quote Challenge (2020)





	remember when we'd talk all night?

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Camouflage" by Selena Gomez, which is a part of the [ playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4dGMr6trIs6eTPAIEDSMIi?si=T-DhoO8RQcW1dSZhe6r-Cg) I've made for this work.  
> It really sets you in the mood, so I highly recommend turning this shit up while reading!
> 
> This work is a part of Labor Day Book Quote Challange hosted by amazing, talented, brilliant Bimmy and Chris.  
> Thank you for the opportunity to be a part of this and for creating a fun and welcoming space for writing, talking about things we love and just goofing around :'))
> 
> Special thank you to my dear Ally @blueeyedrichie for helping me beta this fic 🖤

Sometimes it seems as though he and Richie have always been friends.

Honestly, it's always been that way — Richie and Eddie, Eddie and Richie, a package deal with no chance of separation.

Of course, there are the Losers too; Stan, Mike, Beverly, Ben, and Bill, and Eddie loves them with all his heart, but he and Richie have always had something special. Maybe the reason behind it is that since the eighth grade they began to spend less time with the Losers and more time alone.

Eddie really doesn’t know when it all began, but he notices it more and more often when they’re lying together in his room with a new comic book— which they bought with their joined pocket money— in their hands, or when they go to the movies to watch the new Marvel movie, even though they already planned on seeing it together with the rest of the Losers the next day.

Along with the increased time spent together, something fundamental has also changed.

More and more often Eddie finds himself studying the curl of hair falling from the dark nest on Richie's head every time he shakes his head along with the music playing in the background. Or how carelessly Richie takes his hand to drag him to the shop window and point at some ridiculous bullshit that he ends up buying because _you never know when you’re gonna need a banana phone case, Eds_. Or how they always seek each other out in the crowd, always try to get as close as possible to each other, always sit everywhere together, almost on each other’s laps, and first turn to each other for help before going to anyone else.

And the amount of bodily contact...

The trouble with Richie was that he couldn’t keep still for more than a minute at a time and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut at all. He has always been an obscenely tactile person: shoving, tickling, lifting everyone in his arms on a regular basis, starting joke skirmishes — mostly, with Mike or Bill, and losing in both cases.

But Eddie always got the most.

And the strangest thing is that it doesn't bother him at all.

Eddie is so used to it, used to their interaction, that he doesn't see anything odd about how closely they always sit to each other, how Richie's eyes light up every time Eddie laughs at his joke or wrinkles his nose, which, according to him, looks eerily adorable, which makes Eddie frown even harder, and how warm he feels whenever Richie is around.

He has always been drawn to Richie, and it was mutual, and neither they nor the Losers consider it to be something abnormal or off-limits.

Sometimes Eddie catches the strange looks of Beverly or Stan on himself when Richie does some usual stupid shit and he just watches him with a poorly concealed smile, but when he meets their oddly gleaming eyes, they immediately turn away and pretend that nothing’s wrong.

So, he does the same.

When they all went to universities together— Bill, Eddie, Richie and Mike in one, and Ben, Beverly and Stan in another, fifteen minutes away— they became even closer, if it was even possible.

Thank God Eddie got a separate room without annoying neighbors who might’ve not even known what cleaning is or how to turn on the vacuum cleaner. Bill moved in with Richie on the other side of the dorm building, because all the double rooms closer were already occupied, and Richie flat-out refused to live alone. He even tried to persuade Eddie to move in with him, almost falling to his knees with puppy eyes, but no matter how much love Eddie had for him, he wasn’t ready to endure the endlessly blasting music and eternal mess on the other half of the room.

Besides, in about tenth grade Richie had finally stopped acting like a literal child, especially after puberty finally hit him like a truck, and began to show interest in the opposite sex. And later, in their senior year, he sneaked into Eddie's bedroom through the window in the middle of the night, with tousled hair and red-rimmed, puffy eyes, and quietly, almost shamefully admitted that he seemed to like both girls and boys, and Eddie lifted the covers, let Richie lie down next to him, hugged him and didn’t let go until the morning when Richie’s shoulders finally stopped shaking with silent tears.

So, he also was not ready to put up with the phenomena of Richie's personal life.

It's not that Eddie doesn't support him, isn’t proud of his endless courage and how Richie was able to overcome himself and the possible disapproval of society, confessed not only to him, but to the rest of the Losers, who, of course, also supported and accepted him, and stopped hiding his sexuality after the admission to the university.

It's just that that autumn night, when Richie whispered to him in a trembling voice that he was attracted to guys too, something inside Eddie... switched.

Two years have passed since that moment, and during this time Richie managed to briefly date a sorority girl and picked up at least four guys and six girls at parties. Not that Eddie is counting, though.

And every time he sees Richie in someone else’s company, something aches deeply in his chest, and he can’t find any reasonable explanation for this feeling.

Richie's attention was always focused only on him, apart from rare exceptions, whether it was a frivolous squabble, hugs so tight they were borderline choking, hair ruffling or another stupid joke. It was almost always Eddie.

And he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it.

From the very beginning of their freshman year, almost every day Richie has been picking him up after classes and they would walk around the campus, or go to the cafe across the street and share churros with caramel, or study together in one of their rooms — more often than not, Eddie’s, because Bill, as it turned out, is not a big fan of cleaning, which makes his and Richie's dorm look more like a cave than a room of two business majors.

Back in October of the first year, Eddie realized that it was better to give Richie his spare key, because he spent more time at Eddie’s than back in his own dorm, and if personal space was lacking between them before, it was entirely nonexistent now.

Richie removes his hand from Eddie’s shoulder or knee only if he really needs to go somewhere, as if he's afraid that Eddie might evaporate or something will certainly happen to him as soon as he lets him go. And it's nice to know that someone worries about you so much that they don't want to let you go, not only out of sight but also out of their hands.

Every time Richie does disappear from his personal space, Eddie notices his mood going sour, or an incomprehensible desire to snap at every word, or a tingling sensation where Richie’s hand rested mere moments ago.

And Richie, despite his bullshitting and obvious exaggeration of his achievements, doesn’t go to parties that often and doesn’t sleep with every person in sight, even though he loves to whine about being lonely and sad and desperately needing love.

At such moments, Eddie just throws a pencil or a pillow in his face and reminds Richie that he never had a serious relationship at all, _so_ _shut up, Rich, at least you have something to miss_ , to which Richie only pouts like a petulant child before finally going back to what they were doing before.

Every weekend, the Losers gather at Ben and Beverly's apartment— which they’ve begun renting after finally getting together on Christmas break in their freshman year— and watch movies, talk about what happened in their lives since the last time they all saw each other, and then fall asleep together on the couch or an inflatable mattress. Richie, though, constantly squeezes himself in between Bev and Ben on the bed, and they try to shove him away in their sleep, and more often than not he wakes up on the floor.

For Eddie, who’s almost constantly drowning in his kinetics homework and midterm tests and theses’, such weekends are like a breath of fresh air, and when he can't stay overnight, Richie always volunteers to walk him to his room and, leaving a sleepy kiss on Eddie’s forehead, softly wishes him _good night_.

Such moments worry him most of all.

The way Richie behaves in public and even in the company of their closest friends, loudly, ridiculously, and irresponsibly, doing anything it takes just to keep his hands and thoughts busy and to amuse himself and everyone around him, versus how he becomes when he and Eddie are alone.

Eddie really, really hopes that he's the only one who knows _this_ Richie.

That he’s the only one who knows how Richie starts fiddling with his shirt in an attempt to disguise his discomfort when he’s nervous or in an uncomfortable situation.

How Richie actually doesn't always want to chat about everything and nothing, preferring instead to listen to Eddie's stories about some shit he probably isn't even interested in for hours until he falls asleep, and then Eddie carefully removes his glasses and lies down beside Richie in a bed that is way too small for two grown guys.

How Richie instantly calms down when Eddie touches him, whether it's been a busy week, a run-in with some asshole in a bar or at a party that Richie probably asked for, or some small thing that became the last straw.

It's almost mesmerizing to watch those blue eyes light up every time he and Eddie see each other in a crowd, or how a barely noticeable but still sincere smile adorns Richie's lips out of nowhere when they spend time together, away from the depressing pace of constant studying and the weight of society.

Something flutters in Eddie's stomach every time he feels those arms hugging him from behind, and that chin resting on the back of his head, and the familiar smell of cologne.

For some reason, he feels safe with Richie, who never fails to cheer him up, even when Eddie is in the mood to scream, kick and kill; and a soft, warm smile always appears on his lips, over which Beverly will surely giggle, every time Richie hugs him like that, and Eddie will never, ever admit to how much he likes it.

The Losers are like family to him, and he keeps them so close to his heart that sometimes Eddie can't even believe his own luck, because such people are only found once in a lifetime, and he was very lucky to meet _six_ at once, and they understand and support him like no one else.

However, Eddie doesn’t seek contact with them as often as he does with Richie, doesn’t run to them in moments of sadness or, on the contrary, happiness, doesn’t allow them to pinch his cheek and call him these stupid nicknames that he, deep down, doesn’t really mind.

But he and Richie are best friends. From the very beginning, Eddie has been closest to Richie, and there is nothing surprising about the fact that he always thinks about Richie first and later about the others. 

And even if sometimes Eddie involuntarily thinks that he really might hold Richie closer to his heart than the others, it’s definitely all in his head.

***

It's early October, and even though it's still pretty hot in California at this time of year, deep down Eddie somehow finds himself missing Derry, already painted in autumn colors.

He and Richie last saw each other three days ago. Yes, maybe he’s just being overdramatic— many friends don’t see each other for weeks or even months— but Eddie is so used to his constant presence and the white noise that Richie calls the words coming from his mouth that he feels somehow uncomfortable and... lonely. And this is absolutely ridiculous because they text each other daily and the day before yesterday they even face-timed, but Richie’s swamped with work, so he spends almost all of his free time at the radio station.

Eddie tries to ignore the aching feeling in his chest as he makes his way through hours of classes he usually really enjoys— just not in the mood right now— and when he gets a text from Richie saying that Eddie can come over tonight, he tries to suppress a happy smile, because no one smiles sitting in the front seats of theoretical mechanics class at nine in the morning.

When Eddie shows up at the door of Bill and Richie’s dorm, with a packet of popcorn for Richie and nachos for himself, he freezes on the threshold, his mouth agape in surprise.

This room has never been so clean.

The single bed under several huge posters of Queen and, for some reason, a mugshot of Lindsay Lohan, looks tucked in, even though all the pillows are scattered across it as if someone had been jumping all over the bed, but nothing is lying on the floor, the air doesn’t smell like chips and Axe— more than that, you can even catch a whiff of a lemon air freshener— and before Eddie can complete analyzing the room and the percentage of its tidiness, which, at first glance, looks like no less than eighty, rather than the usual ten, he is suddenly lifted from the floor and spun in the air.

“Oh my God, Richie, put me down!”

Eddie's screeches seem to work and soon he is back on his feet, but his face is immediately showered with wet smooches, and he continues to protest even louder, while Richie’s laughter sweeps across almost the entire floor.

After a couple of moments, Eddie finally gets the opportunity to catch his breath, and when he opens his eyes and grumpily wipes his face, Richie’s looking at him with such a wide smile that Eddie himself can’t resist and smiles back at him.

“I’ve missed you so much, Spaghetti, you have no idea!”

Eddie grimaces and hands him his popcorn, notably crushed by the hug.

“I was about to say that it’s mutual, but you ruined everything again with that stupid nickname,” he mutters under his breath and leaves his backpack by the door before curiously looking around the room again. “I really want to know what had to happen so that you and Bill cleaned up.”

Laughter comes from behind him, and Eddie turns to Bill leaning against the door with a wide, amused grin.

“You won’t believe it,” he says, looking at Richie, who is standing behind Eddie, with a weird gleam in his eyes. “Our dear Richie’s gotten a crush and is now afraid that if Léa sees the state of our room, she will never return his feelings.”

Richie groans and Bill, laughing, walks over to his bed and throws his gym bag on it.

“Nothing of the kind, it's all slander!” Richie groans indignantly, causing Bill to snort while opening the closet and taking out his sports clothes.

“Yeah, slander my ass. Maybe I should call her right now so you can say the same to her?”

Flopping facedown on the bed, Richie continues to whine and even begins to complain to his pillow about the devastating betrayal and loss of trust in everyone in this world, while Bill puts his sneakers in the bag and closes it before throwing it over his shoulder, and then turns to Eddie, still grinning.

“I have practice in half an hour, so I'll head out. See you later, Eddie.”

Eddie subconsciously nods in response and Bill disappears through the door, leaving him alone with Richie who’s already rolled over on his back, but is still hiding his face in his hands.

“Forget everything you’ve just heard,” Richie mutters into his palms, and Eddie feels like he’s been doused with ice water.

“Who is Léa?”

Taking his hands off his face, Richie gets up on the bed and takes a deep breath, and Eddie slowly walks over to the bed and sits down next to him, but his eyes remain trained on Richie’s hands.

“From Bill’s economics class. He introduced us when I picked him up after lessons.”

That’s not even close to enough.

Eddie’s head is bursting with muddled thoughts, assumptions and reasonings, and he’s always liked to get into his head, so a couple of harmless, joking words from Bill are enough to start the process.

Richie has always told him about everything, whether it were the contents of his lunch or how he almost lost his phone again, and Eddie really doesn't blame him for the fact that only Bill knew about this Léa first, but it still stings.

How long has Richie been keeping such important details of his life from Eddie, like that he has a crush on someone?

They haven't seen each other for four days, and _this_ is what happens?

“Eds?”

Shaking his head, Eddie forcefully banishes those thoughts, having already halfway convinced himself that his friendship with Richie is over, and turns to Richie who’s watching him anxiously.

He is not going to dig into why he wasn’t the first to know.

Only the moment Eddie finally opens his mouth to say something, somehow continue the conversation, maybe find out more, or, even better, completely nullify it, because something inside him does not want to hear it at all, Richie, never the one to bear the silence, speaks up again.

“Despite all my undying love for Bill, he can't be trusted. He lures people in with his charming eyes and his sweet smile and then…”

“Rich.”

What Eddie really doesn't want to hear is another rush of white noise that Richie starts every time he wants to change the topic.

So, Eddie finally meets his gaze and turns sideways, lifting one bent leg on the bed to be face to face with Richie, and even though it’s highly unlikely to comprehend and correctly express what he is feeling at the moment or what exactly he wants to know, Eddie is trying his best to soften his gaze, trying to show Richie that _you can trust me_.

Richie seems to give up because in the next moment he sighs and lowers his gaze to where his fingers have already picked up the thread sticking out of his t-shirt and are now deliberately trying to tear it off.

“It’s not a crush. I just…” he trails off and takes another deep breath. “Y’know, the last time I was with someone was more than three months ago, and she is cute and we have a lot in common, and…” Richie shrugs, cautiously looking at Eddie through his eyelashes as if he’s afraid to see the look on his face.

And no matter how much Eddie wants to turn around right now, to leave this room and even the building as soon as possible in order to take a deep, calming breath of the sobering fresh air, he stays in place and touches Richie's hand, and it instantly stops pulling the bottom of the shirt.

Richie finally looks up at him and Eddie smiles with the corners of his lips.

“Tell me about it?”

For a moment, doubt flickers in Richie's eyes and it breaks his heart, but Eddie won't press or pry. However, a moment later, everything suddenly returns to its place — when Richie opens his mouth and begins to speak, it’s impossible to stop him.

The lemon air freshener is finally replaced by the usual smell of chips, and Richie rests his head in Eddie’s lap as he carefully detangles Richie’s unruly hair and listens to him talk and, probably for the first time ever, doesn’t interfere, only occasionally nodding and looking at how a lazy smile appears on Richie's lips every time he barely scratches his scalp.

***

More than a week passes before this topic pops up again. Eddie finally has a relatively free schedule, giving him a break, and tries to spend all his free time with his friends.

On Saturday night, the Losers, by tradition, come over to Bev and Ben’s to watch a new movie together, about which Bill and therefore Richie have been talking about for weeks now. Eddie was already in the mood for serenity and harmony, a pleasant evening in the company of his favorite people, but life, apparently, had other plans.

Richie's phone rings in the middle of the movie, and when he pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen, he smiles briefly and apologizes before hurrying out of the room. Eddie doesn't pay much attention because it’s none of his business who calls Richie, but then Beverly elbows Stan and whispers something to him with a grin, and he lets out a chuckle and whispers something to her in return.

Richie comes back seven minutes later looking like he’d just won the lottery.

His place on the couch is now occupied by Mike's legs, and, judging by his expression, asking him to move is a waste of time, so Richie, without thinking twice, lands on the chair in which Eddie was sitting quietly before, almost on his lap.

“How’s Léa?”

Six heads turn to Stan, with varying degrees of surprise and interest.

Beverly is grinning so widely it’s about to cut her face in half, and she and Bill exchange glances like they’re about to burst with laughter, and Richie doesn't seem to know what to say, which amazes everyone in the room.

“Who is Léa?” Ben asks, talking not even to Richie, but to his girlfriend because right now she clearly has more ability to speak than Richie who’s now staring at Stan with his mouth slightly agape.

“You won't believe it,” Bill says through a grin, obviously pleased with what’s happening.

Richie seems to finally pull himself together — Eddie can feel rather than hear him taking a deep breath and then grinning as he fidgets in the chair they share and makes himself comfortable as Mike turns the volume of the movie still playing on TV down.

“I see that someone,” Richie pointedly looks at Bill, which makes him grin even wider, “has watched too much _Gossip Girl_.”

Bill puts his hands up in surrender, and Bev laughs into the palm covering her face as Mike and Ben exchange confused looks still laced with amusement.

“Maybe it was Eddie and not me. Why are you making such accusations without evidence?” Bill resents, jokingly outraged and failing to stifle the laughter threatening to burst out of his chest.

Eddie is so shocked that he was somehow brought into this conversation that he doesn't even have time to form an answer or even process Bill's words before Richie ruffles his hair.

“My dear Eds would never betray me like that.”

Eddie doesn't even pay attention to the nickname he claims to hate with all his being because suddenly Richie's arm wraps around his shoulder and he tries to ignore how warm Richie is, how good he smells and how these softly spoken words find their way right into his pounding heart, but the others, as it seems, are not going to let go of this topic so easily.

“Stop playing, Rich. Out with it!” Mike says, settling back on the couch and finally removing his legs from Richie’s former seat.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie notices Richie's hands reaching down to the bottom of his shirt, but the corner of his lips is turned up with a smirk, and Eddie realizes he can’t read Richie’s expression, so he focuses on the movie instead and tries not to think about how much that unsettles him.

There is a short pause after Mike's words, and five pairs of eyes look expectantly at Richie until he finally answers, “What you don't know won’t hurt you, Mikey. Keep your cute, curious nose out of my business.”

Beverly and Stan burst into laughter as Bill huffs goodnaturedly, saying that _he thought so,_ and Richie grabs the plate full of popcorn from the table and the remote from the sofa cushion and turns the sound of the TV back on, sinking deeper into the chair.

A part of Eddie wants to be outraged, but the only thing he’s thinking about right now is how the armrest of the chair is now uncomfortably poking his back, and then popcorn appears in his face and Richie leaves a kiss on the top of his head and continues to watch the movie as if nothing had happened.

“I'll tell you later,” Eddie hears Bill whispering to Mike and Ben, while Bev chuckles softly, and soon everyone returns their attention to what is happening on the screen.

Richie’s phone vibrates a couple of times until the end credits, but he either decides not to pay attention to it or gets too invested in arguing with Stan about the ending of the film, and Eddie ignores their skirmish, immersed in his thoughts. That night, when he returned to his room from Richie and Bill's, he had no time to process what he had just heard because he suddenly remembered he had a test tomorrow that has yet to study for, and he forced himself to focus on that even though his mind had almost no room for formulas and equations.

Not that he had room for anything really, with thoughts of Richie still invading his mind.

Eddie really doesn’t feel like thinking about it now, surrounded by his friends on this warm autumn evening, which was supposed to become a relief after a week of hard work, so he puts off the already intrusive thoughts for later.

This evening, Richie, to the great joy of Ben and Beverly, does not try to squeeze on the bed between them, but instead lies with Eddie on a sofa too small for the two of them, and by three in the morning Eddie falls asleep to Richie’s soft snoring, warm breath on his neck and an arm wrapped around his waist.

The phone left on the nearby coffee table doesn't vibrate for the rest of the night.

***

_“Why are girls so complicated?”_

Never in his life would Eddie have thought he’d be giving out relationship advice, especially to a pitifully whining Richie who hasn't had much trouble with flirting and relationships since the beginning of high school.

Until recently, he didn't take it seriously, because Richie has always fallen for people easily, and Léa seemed like something not completely real because all Eddie knew about her was that _her hair is so silky, Eds_ , and _her eyes are like two aquamarines,_ and _she is amazing, you will definitely become friends!_

For some reason, Eddie doesn't think so.

It's getting harder and harder to avoid the subject every day, because Richie doesn't shut up about Léa for a second. The other Losers find his behavior adorably entertaining as if they are amused by a child with a small crush, and Eddie would gladly share their opinion, but feels the same uncomfortable, confusing pressure on his chest every time someone— more often than not, Richie— says her name.

He had three weeks to decide what he thinks about all of this, but the problem is that Eddie doesn’t understand himself.

This is not the first time Richie's shown interest in someone, not even close, but Eddie has never seen him like this.

It's mid-November now, and even the Californian sun gives way to the cool breeze and grayish clouds, and for the first time in his life, Eddie regrets accepting Richie's offer to have a sleepover, because he is not in the mood to listen to all of this.

Predictably, Richie once again forgets the inflatable mattress that Bill prudently bought at the beginning of freshman year just for this — it is very difficult to fit in dorm beds together, especially given Richie's height and his habit of sleeping like it’s a king-sized bed. And before, Eddie wasn’t really against waking up with his face buried in Richie’s shoulder, a warm, comforting hand resting on the small of his back.

This time he sends Richie back for the mattress.

When did most of their conversations and interactions become a discussion or rather a monologue about Richie’s fiery feelings? And they can't even be called otherwise, because Richie's fucking eyes _light up_ every time he gets a notification on his phone, and Beverly continues to mock him mercilessly while Ben watches his girlfriend’s wittiness with an adoring smile.

Eddie just wants everything to go back to the way it was before.

So that Richie would once again make his stupid jokes, and Eddie would grimace pointedly, trying to suppress his laughter, deciding not to indulge Richie’s already enormous ego, so that they could go to their favorite cafe across the street together at two in the morning and share a plate of churros again, so that ...

Eddie sincerely doesn’t understand why it bothers him so much; why he can’t bear to listen to Richie talk about _her_.

Maybe it’s true that he just misses their conversations. Maybe he's not used to Richie's attention not being focused on him for so long. Or maybe it's all the stress before mid-term exams tied with plain exhaustion.

Maybe he just needs a break.

***

Two weeks later, Richie and Léa start dating.

When he first introduces her to the Losers— besides Bill, obviously— everyone welcomes her with open arms.

Léa turns out to be exactly how Richie described her and even more — open, cheerful and kind. Of course, at first she was very shy, but quickly got used to new people and from there, it was like clockwork.

She and Richie have been holding hands all evening, and Léa talks about herself and how she met Richie — more precisely, about how he had been chasing her, and the others don’t even try to hide their pleasant surprise when they find out that at least for the past month and a half, Richie had been waiting for her after class almost every day to walk Léa to her apartment near campus that she shared with two of her friends.

Richie just laughs it off, and when Léa points out his blush with a smile on her lips, he leaves a gentle kiss on her cheek.

Bill, Ben and Beverly can't stop smiling, while Stan and Mike look at each other knowingly, and the evening goes by discussing their studies and plans for the future, until a new episode of _The Bachelor—_ the whole group’s newest obsession— comes on at eight o'clock.

And then Léa remembers that she brought a pecan pie she’d baked at home, and the room almost explodes with joyful cheering.

“Eddie, you want some?”

Everyone has already settled back into their seats with plates in their hands and satisfied smiles on their face, and Eddie wraps himself deeper in a fluffy blanket and flinches, either from surprise or a cool gust of wind from the half-open window, when Léa calls out to him holding a kitchen knife over the already half-eaten pie.

All evening she’s been trying to find out as much as possible about all of them while also not crossing any lines, and when she noticed that Eddie hardly took part in the conversation, she sat down next to him while Richie and Bill were at the store.

Talking to her turned out to be so easy and enjoyable that Eddie reproached himself for his unreasonable detachment, because this is _his best friend's girlfriend_ and what kind of a best friend is he if he can’t even _smile_ at her.

However, in a couple of minutes Léa opened him up to a conversation as if they have known each other for years, and when Richie and Bill came back from the store and all of them sat back in their seats to start watching the new episode, Eddie found himself fighting off a smile.

“Thank you, but I'm not really hungry,” he refuses politely, and Léa nods lightly and says that she will leave him a piece in case he changes his mind.

While the reality show continues to play in the background and the others are actively discussing what is happening on the screen while eating the pie, Eddie’s gaze wanders around the room and eventually meets with Richie’s.

He frowns slightly, and confusion flashes in his otherwise bright eyes, but Eddie just shakes his head and smiles briefly, nodding towards the TV. Richie's gaze still lingers on him for a while, and he feels it on his skin, but continues to stare at the screen, distantly listening to Beverly and Mike arguing about which girl should leave the show next and who deserves the rose more.

Ben and his classmates are leaving for a week-long trip to Chicago in the morning, so they don't stay overnight. Bill leaves shortly after the end of the episode, because tomorrow he has to get up early, and shortly after him Mike decides to go home, and Léa also gets up from her place next to Richie and says that she should wrap up too.

When Richie offers to give her a ride home, she just waves it off and kisses him briefly, saying that she lives only a couple of houses from here and doesn't want to interrupt anyone's fun, and he’s clearly unhappy with this, but after a couple of minutes of objections agrees to let Léa go with Mike, making him promise to make sure she gets home safe and sound.

Eddie starts packing up around ten and Stan and Richie join him under Beverly's disgruntled gaze. She clearly wants to get rid of them as soon as possible so that she can spend some time alone with her boyfriend before he leaves for the week.

It's chilly outside and it’s just stopped raining less than half an hour ago, and when Eddie walks out on the street, he immediately wraps himself up in his denim jacket.

First, Richie gives Stan a ride to his campus, and he sleepily bids them goodbye, getting out of the back seat of the car and not managing to close the door the first time. Richie bends over Eddie and leans out the window to shout something to Stan's back, and in revenge, Eddie pinches him on the side and Richie finally gets back in the seat and hits the road.

The drive from Stan's campus to theirs takes no more than ten minutes, and one of Richie's many tapes plays from the speakers, and Eddie, despite the dampness and his skin already covered with goosebumps from the cool wind, peeks out the window and closes his eyes. They don't say a word because silence has never been a problem for them, but Richie keeps one hand on the steering wheel and drums a beat against it that is known only to him; the fingers of the other on the outer door, and Eddie feels his gaze on his face again, but doesn't open his eyes.

He thinks that Richie wants to ask something, tries to guess what he is thinking about now and stays silent, waiting for him to finally speak up. But Richie almost never says his feelings or the things that he really cares about out loud.

Today, it seems, is no exception.

They walk up to Eddie's room, and he's taking his keys from his jacket pocket, already turning to say goodbye, when Richie finally speaks.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Eddie is so startled by the question that he almost drops his keys, and when he opens his mouth to ask what Richie means by that, Richie continues, lowering his gaze. “I know I’m not the greatest person for heart to hearts, but...”

“Of course I know it, Rich,” Eddie interrupts, making him look up from his hands.

For a long moment, they look at each other, and he tries to find words, even thoughts, to interrupt the noise in his head— the music playing softly in the car, the sound of the wind outside the car window and Richie's loud laughter when Léa begins to defend the bachelor after Richie said that next time he should shove the rose up his ass if he continues to kick out the most adequate contestants— but does not find them.

A soft smile touches Richie's lips, and after a moment he raises his hand and pinches Eddie’s cheek before turning around and heading towards the elevator, and Eddie doesn't find it in himself to call after him.

***

Eddie has always been good at suppressing emotions.

It’s not difficult when there is something distracting you — midterms are just around the corner, assignments one after the other, not to mention finding time just to take a break and breathe.

There is nothing strange about Eddie spending less time with his friends. They all have their own lives, they are all students and understand what it’s like to devote all their time to studying. The only problem is that the rest of the Losers still manage to find a couple of hours to spend with each other, reboot and start the next week with renewed vigor. Eddie, though, doesn't have that time.

Not that he's looking for it.

There is nothing strange about the fact that Richie’s begun to bring Léa with him, and she fits in with them as if she has always been there. Of course, the two of them still spend most of the time together, but sometimes she still comes over to their weekly hangouts, and her name pops up in almost every conversation.

There is nothing strange about Eddie always looking for an excuse to stay late after class, rejecting his friends' invitations to have lunch, or leaving Bev and Ben’s early, blaming it on the lack of sleep and unfinished assignments.

There is nothing strange about all of this.

From class to class, from lecture to lecture, December goes by, and somewhere deep down Eddie wants to bury his head under the covers and lie there until the remaining two and a half years of college pass him by and his diploma lies on his bedside table.

And he wants to complain, wants to blow off some steam, and even has someone with _whom_ to do it, but every time Eddie reaches for the phone, he pulls his hand back and opens the textbook instead.

The only good thing about it is that his academic record is now one of the best in his year and he no longer needs to worry about losing his scholarship. _And_ Eddie doesn’t have to watch Richie light up with his whole being every time someone mentions Léa's name.

In the beginning of December, some of the Losers meet at lunch, occupying a huge table in the cafeteria and talking too loudly about the upcoming vacation, and Richie lands on the bench right next to Eddie and eats a piece of fried chicken right from his fork. Scowling, Eddie decides not to waste time on voicing his outrage and gets up to grab another fork, but upon coming back to the table he finds Léa sitting on the other side of Richie, between him and Bill.

As soon as she notices Eddie, she smiles brightly, and when he sits down, wanting to continue eating, Léa begins talking about the upcoming scientific conference, which the university is organizing, right over Richie. That clearly doesn’t make him happy, because he continues to poke her every time she leans forward to see Eddie and not interrupt the conversation, eventually turning all of her attention to him.

The rest of the lunch goes the same way, and Eddie finally gives up trying to draw all of Richie's attention to himself, because at some point Richie almost turns his back to him, telling Bill and Léa something. He silently continues to eat his food, occasionally helping Mike to answer some questions in his homework which he didn’t have enough time to do for the upcoming class.

And isn't that stupid? Why is he so bothered by the fact that Richie isn’t just talking to him? It's nowhere near as serious as he imagines it is, but Eddie can’t fight the slight burning in the corners of his eyes.

It's a good thing that Beverly isn’t around, otherwise he would have felt even worse under her piercing gaze that never fails to make his skin itch.

It's not like he knows the answer to the question flashing in her eyes every time Eddie turns away, not wanting to watch Richie throw a giggling Léa over his shoulder and salute them all before heading to her place.

What Eddie definitely doesn't need to think about is why they almost always leave together before the others.

And to say that Richie has begun to pay much less attention to him is to lie, because it’s not true. Yes, of course, Richie spends most of his free time with his girlfriend, because this is how relationships _work,_ but he continues to text Eddie, and ask him about his studies, and send voice messages about everything and nothing at three in the morning like nothing has changed.

Perhaps Eddie is working himself up over nothing. He is nineteen, not five, he can live without being the center of attention, and will not whine to anyone about being _ditched_.

Even the sound of it is so absurd, because when Bev and Ben started dating, of course they began spending a little more time together and a little less time with the Losers, but for some reason, he did not care as much as he does now about the fact that someone else appeared in Richie's life.

Therefore, in order to avoid Bev's looks and other things that have recently begun to give him more and more hidden discomfort with each passing day, Eddie cuts off almost any face to face contact.

It doesn't last as long as he would like, and in mid-December, just before Christmas, Beverly almost kicks down his door and forces Eddie into her boyfriend's car and they all drive to their favorite restaurant to celebrate the upcoming holidays before some of the Losers go away to their homes.

It's nice to get everyone together for once, and when Eddie looks at the table where almost all the Losers are already sitting, laughing loudly with happy, warm smiles on their faces, he feels his eyes go a little watery, realizing just how much he missed it.

Until Léa and Richie sit down on the opposite side of the table.

Richie is wearing an absolutely ridiculous Christmas sweater, with glowing lights and an embroidered deer, bells hanging from the collar of the shirt which Richie can’t stop tugging, and Eddie kind of wants to make fun of him for this fashion disaster, but Stan gets there first.

Even though Richie is a tactile, affectionate person, from the very beginning he and Léa haven’t really been flaunting their relationship, and Eddie is grateful for that. He is not sure if he could sit there for three hours, squeezed by the rest of their friends at the table too small for eight people, and look at it all.

However, this does not prevent them from holding hands and exchanging secret glances. At some point, Léa lays her head on Richie's shoulder, and he puts his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head and continuing the conversation with Mike while Léa closes her eyes with a content smile and buries herself deeper in his arms.

Despite Eddie's excuses about being busy with studying, Richie continues to text him every day, whether it's an impressively detailed account of some lunchtime drama or a simple funny Instagram video, and Eddie responds to each of them, so Richie doesn't notice anything.

Including the fact that for the third month already he’s stopped picking Eddie up after class, and the last time they spent time together was a week and a half ago, when Eddie had to go to the Business building where Richie is studying and find the dean’s office, which Richie happily showed him, talking about some new series on Netflix which Beverly recommended him the whole way.

So, it doesn't count.

“Léa, how are you going to spend Christmas?”

The appetizer plates are almost empty by now, and soon the waiter will bring the main course, so while waiting they start discussing their plans for Christmas and New Year’s.

Exchanging glances with Richie, she smiles briefly at him and he squeezes Léa’s hand before she turns back to answer Ben.

“I'm going home to Lyon until New Year’s.”

Most of the Losers also go home to spend Christmas with their family. Beverly will be with Ben and his parents, Stan is leaving tomorrow because Hanukkah starts a little earlier, and Richie and Bill return to Derry together on the same flight two days before Christmas.

Eddie, though, stays here with Mike.

He’s hated Christmas since he was a child, because he spent the holiday with his mother. What brightened them up all these years was the fact that Eddie still managed to spend most of his time with the Losers after Sonia decided that she’d spent enough family time with her son and went to her church friends. 

And that every Christmas morning since he was eleven, Richie would sneak into his room and they would open all their presents together.

After Eddie moved to the other end of the continent and began living an independent life, it became much easier to celebrate this holiday — perhaps because in his first year, Richie said that he would stay in California with him when he learned that Eddie had flatly refused to return to Derry. That year they had celebrated Christmas in each other's company, with a horror marathon— because they both hate Christmas comedies— eggnog, gingerbread cookies and just the two of them.

He doesn't know how this Christmas will go, with thousands of kilometers between them and not just a couple of streets of a city painted in sparkling white, but from the sad look in Richie's eyes and the way he strokes Léa's hand in his, it’s obvious that he’s upset by the fact that they won’t spend the holidays together.

Richie knows that Eddie is staying in town, but doesn’t offer to stay with him.

This thought haunts him, but there is another one, causing his chest to cramp with chilly discomfort, almost like having a fake asthma attack which has not happened for years now.

Did he invite Léa to spend Christmas together, just like he did with Eddie a year ago?

Eddie doesn't want to know the answer.

They talk about this year's last tests and the latest news, and at one point, when Beverly suggests putting _Atonement_ on their list of holiday films, Richie says that he despises romantic dramas because they are all boring and have the same plot. Eddie wants to shove him and remind him of how he almost choked with tears when watching _The Notebook_ , but Léa interrupts him, “Rich, you begged me to watch _Me Before You_ for at least a week and then could not calm down for another one, because, I quote, _they deserved a happy ending, why did he do it, she wore the bee tights in the end, Lé-é-éa, it's so unfair!”_

After that, Richie pouts at her while the others laugh and continue discussing options for films, but Eddie can't take his eyes off him, one single thought spinning in his head.

He's not the only one who knows this Richie.

Their eyes meet, and Richie’s fighting a reluctant smile off his lips before he notices Eddie's expression and frowns. His hand, probably for the first time this evening, lets go of Léa's— she hardly pays any attention to it, still talking with Bill— and covers Eddie's hand lying on the table.

Again, there’s that confused look in his eyes, like that day at Beverly and Ben’s, and Eddie looks at where their hands touch and doesn’t know the answer. I _'m just tired, nevermind, it's all school, I’m not in the mood, it’s nothing, I seem to have eaten too much, I need fresh air, this is the first time we’ve touched like that in weeks, you don't seem to need me anymore_ … These words are gathered just on the tip of his tongue, leaving behind a tacky, bitter aftertaste, and Eddie's head splits.

He turns his hand over and touches Richie's palm briefly with his, before forcing a smile and returning to the already cold food.

***

Christmas goes surprisingly well — the Losers exchanged gifts before leaving and open them together via video call on Christmas morning, and Eddie stays overnight at Mike's, and those two days leave behind a pleasant echo of a warm, cozy weekend he didn't know he needed.

They play board games and watch films picked by Beverly over the same video call, and Mike gets a delicious ham from some fancy butcher shop, even if Eddie suggests just ordering some takeout and not bothering with having holiday-themed food.

On Christmas morning, he receives a text from Richie with a picture of the vinyl of his favorite band, gifted to him by Eddie, about which Richie has not shut up for the last six months since the release of the album, with a dozen hearts.

Eddie opens his presents one by one and at the end, among a mountain of torn wrapping paper, finds a small box with a colorful bow and a note which he puts aside before carefully prying off the wrapper to reveal a red thread with a small charm-pendant in the form of an inhaler.

 _“Wear it with pride, Eds”_ says the crooked handwriting in the note, with a winking smiley face in the corner, and Eddie puts the thread on his wrist and continues to touch the pendant with his fingers throughout the whole evening, rubbing it with a small smile.

***

New Year's Eve sneaks up faster than could’ve been expected, and by December the 30th, all the Losers are back in town to celebrate together.

Ben and Beverly's apartment looks like a whole elves’ village has barged in here, sparing no mercy — silvery lights are hanging everywhere, sparkling lights dancing all over the decorated walls, and a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room towers even over Richie, Mike and Ben.

Everyone brings food and drinks, and Bill barely manages to make it to the kitchen table with eight bottles of alcohol, even though Beverly has a stash of five more bottles, which include tequila and rosé.

Before Eddie has time to step into the apartment, in the doorway, antlers are suddenly put on his head, and Richie's face lights up with a dazzling smile as he examines the result.

He texted Eddie during his entire week in Derry, complaining about how bored he was and that Maggie forced him and Wentworth to wear sweaters knitted by her, which made them look like two librarians. Eddie caught random, little smiles sneaking onto his face multiple times, being at the store or on the way home, when he remembered the picture Richie had sent of him, his father and their highly displeased faces.

Léa has the same picture saved as her phone’s wallpaper.

Usually, Eddie doesn't drink that much, preferring to laugh at his friends drunk off their asses, but today he decides not to limit himself to one glass of champagne. It seems like a good decision, and Eddie is just so tired of constantly being in the corner that he puts himself in, that he decides to go all the way tonight.

Stan is on the verge of hysterics, holding a third glass of wine, when the antlers that Eddie more than willingly gave back to Richie get stuck in Christmas lights hanging from the doorway, and Richie has to beg for help because Bev threatens to murder him in cold blood if he tears her lights.

Eddie comes to the rescue, and as a thank you Richie leaves a light kiss on the tip of his nose and briefly touches the red thread wrapped around Eddie’s wrist, smiling warmly, before tickling Stan who’s still shaking with laughter to tears, and if a rosy blush makes its way onto Eddie’s cheeks, then it’s just the alcohol.

He feels so warm and content that it almost scares him. For the last two months Eddie felt like he had been drowning, sinking to the bottom, dejected and withdrawn, with mood swings one more unexpected than the other, and this sudden outburst of joy and happiness seems too abrupt for that to be true.

“It’s almost midnight and the countdown is about to start. Come here!” Bill's shouting from the living room draws them in from different parts of the apartment, and when Beverly pulls Eddie by the hand from the kitchen, where they were aggressively trying to share the last piece of lemon pie, he freezes in the doorway while she runs to the couch in front of the TV and falls right into Ben's arms.

Bill sits next to them, with Stan's head on his shoulder and hugging Mike who is sprawled on the other side of him. The three of them are wearing their celebratory 2020 headbands and hats, and they smile so happily, talking among themselves, that at first Eddie doesn’t even look at the other end of the couch, watching his friends with a soft smile.

That smile fades away when Eddie finally turns his head and sees Léa's fingers buried in Richie's hair, who is resting his head in her lap with a whistle in his mouth, his eyes burning with a mixture of alcohol and happiness. The countdown begins on the TV screen, and the room is suddenly filled with so much excited noise, and Eddie unknowingly takes the glass of champagne Ben offers him and sits down on the chair next to the couch while the others shout out the remaining seconds.

The burning sensation in his eyes is almost unbearable, and he can’t breathe, as if something is pressing down on his chest with all its weight, blocking his airways, and when the clock hits midnight, the sounds from the suddenly exploding firecrackers, joyful shouts of his friends and fireworks behind the open the door to the balcony pops loudly in Eddie’s ears.

Someone's hands grab him into a tight hug, and Bill smells of the wine Stan accidentally spilled on his shirt, and they all hug each other tightly and wish each other a Happy New Year.

Only Eddie can’t move, because Richie, having finally sat up, smiles at Léa and kisses her tenderly, and a couple of moments later they part with the same soft smiles full of love on their faces, and he looks at how Richie's eyes shine, sparkling with happiness, and how happily he smiles, and this is the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

The glass clatters when Eddie sets it down on the coffee table, and when Bill finally releases him from the hug and turns to Mike, whispering something in his ear over loud music and never-ending fireworks outside the window, he turns away and steps onto the balcony.

He still can’t get a hold of his breathing, and his eyes burn treacherously, and Eddie clings to the iron railing and bites his lower lip, trying to ward off unwelcome tears. And he has no idea why he is crying. A couple of minutes ago, everything was just fine, and he and Ben couldn’t calm down, laughing hysterically at how Richie mimicked the host of the live broadcast from Times Square, and this sudden drop from the peak of joy, comfort and happiness that have been overwhelming him all evening, to the gaping emptiness that has poisoned his life in recent months, knocks out the rest of the air from his lungs.

Eddie still can't breathe, and brings his trembling hands to his face, feeling how wet his cheeks are, and feverishly rubs his eyes, gritting his teeth to the point of tasting metal. The noise all around him is deafening, and the fireworks look even more fascinating and frightening from the small balcony, but through the veil of tears Eddie sees only blurry spots splashed all over the dark sky.

He’s never sobered up so quickly.

The celebration comes to an end at four in the morning, when almost all the bottles have been drunk and there’s no food left on the empty plates. The couch is spread out in the living room, and Beverly invites Eddie, who usually sleeps there, to lie with them on the bed this time, because the sofa has already been occupied by Richie and Léa.

In addition to this option, there are only two mattresses on the living room floor, so Eddie agrees, and closer to five in the morning, the apartment is immersed in almost complete silence, not counting Ben's quiet snoring and Bev's tossing and turning. 

He can’t fall asleep, staring blankly at the dark of the bedroom, suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle in his mind come together, and it hits him all at once what’s been tormenting him all this time.

Eddie finally understands why there was this sickening feeling in his stomach every time he looked at Richie's smile not caused by him, his eyes sparkling with happiness, not focused on Eddie, and Richie’s arms not wrapped around him.

And fuck, it was on the very surface, all these years, right under his fucking nose, and Eddie feels so stupid that he hadn’t noticed it earlier. All their glances, all the time spent alone, this strange feeling of comfort and selfish pleasure when Richie's world revolved almost only around him...

This is not friendly sympathy or jealousy, not even close, and if Bill began dating someone, Eddie doubts that he would feel the same way. He would be happy for him, because the happiness of the Losers has always meant his, too, but for whatever fucking reason looking at a happy Richie and not being the reason of his happiness feels so painful that Eddie began to fucking distance himself, refusing to admit the fact that he does hold Richie closer to his heart than anyone else in his entire life.

It's so stupid, and he wants to push these unwelcome feelings that apparently have been there for years as deep down as they can go, just to stop the burning in his heart. It's not mutual, Richie has someone he already loves, and he is happy, sincerely and selflessly, and Eddie's behavior, his sudden detachment and unfamiliar coldness surely confuse Richie because he doesn't understand his best friend suddenly acting so distant.

And what kind of a best friend is Eddie if he can't support Richie, can't be truly happy for him, can't even _smile_ at his girlfriend and not look away every time they hold hands?

Eddie doesn't have the right to feel that way, he shouldn't feel this, and he lies in Ben and Bev's darkened bedroom and covers his face with his hands, biting the inside of his cheek and shaking his head, desperately trying to escape from the sudden realization. But denying it is pointless, and Eddie chokes on his love, because he can't let it show, can't let the others find out, let _Richie_ find out, just like he chokes on his tears, and this is not how Eddie imagined spending this New Year’s Eve.

The last thing he wants is to ruin their friendship with his feelings, that no one asked for— neither he nor, even more so, Richie— but Eddie is already spoiling it, because he can’t get a hold of himself and endure the light and joy emanating from Richie when Léa is around.

They say that when you finally sort yourself out and find the root of the problem, the answer to the question that's been stepping on your heels and poisoning your life, then it becomes easier. And Eddie wants to laugh in the face of the person who said that because it’s total fucking bullshit.

Nothing seems easier to him now, not even close, and his heart is pounding in his chest as if all the emotions concentrated there decided to break out at the same time.

Next to him, Beverly rolls over from her stomach to the side, turning to face him, and Eddie knows that if she heard his sobs now, opened her eyes and noticed tears cutting his face like cracks in broken glass, she would understand. He’s never been able to hide anything from her, and if he wants to rip his feeling for Richie out of his chest, he can’t let her find out.

Eddie won’t tell a single soul and will do whatever it takes to tear the whips wrapped around his heart, leaving his love behind before everything returns to its place.

If it’s even possible.

Because from what it feels like now, with the sun already rising outside the window and salty tears which taste of smothering bitterness lost in the pillow, leaving wet trails on his shattered face, Eddie is not sure if he is capable of letting go.

***

Everyone notices.

Not at first, no, because they themselves are too busy with their own lives and problems, with winter midterms all throughout January. And Eddie can't mark the exact moment when his attempts to keep everything as discreet as possible come to light and begin showing their face, but he can’t do anything to stop it.

The Losers don’t act as if they notice that something has changed, that something is wrong, but every time he refuses to meet with them, coming up with more and more implausible excuses with each new day, they just nod and give him a brief smile without trying twice.

Eddie feels even worse from the silent resignation in their usually sparkling eyes and knows that he is confusing them, without giving any reasons or explanations, and guilt joins all the feelings that have settled in him over the last several months.

What causes him the most pain, though, is looking at Richie. Richie, who keeps texting almost every day, keeps calling and inviting him everywhere, and his fingers tremble every time Eddie declines the calls, leaves messages unanswered, or turns off his phone altogether.

Perhaps it would be easier if they asked questions. If they confronted him, brought up the signs and refused to listen to his endless supply of excuses.

But no one asks questions, no one digs in and makes a scene, and it makes Eddie feel even worse.

Almost three weeks pass from New Year's Eve before he falls asleep with tears in his eyes for the second time.

Bill spontaneously meets him right after one of the tests and offers to go somewhere, and it’s so much more difficult to say no in real life than on the phone, but Eddie manages to force out an apologetic smile, shaking his head when Bill's gaze lingers on his face for too long.

Bill is not blind, and he certainly isn’t stupid, but if he notices something, he doesn’t show it, and when they hug before saying goodbye, Bill squeezes him tighter than usual and quietly tells Eddie not to disappear. A small remark, even a request, but something in Bill's eyes and the fact that he didn’t mention, didn’t even hint that the last time they spent time together was on New Year's, destroys the house of cards Eddie’s carefully built over these three weeks.

The fragile barricade collapses at the first breath of wind, and Eddie buries his face in the pillow, muffling his trembling sobs and all the pain that overflows him to the brim, threatening to suffocate and splash out in a wave that’ll knock him off his feet.

After that night, it becomes easier, as if almost all the thoughts, doubts and feelings that prevented him from looking at the world with usual calmness and aspiration for a new day leave him alone, with the silently shed tears.

Until he bumps into Mike and Richie at the assembly hall, where all the students have been called before the beginning of the new semester. It catches Eddie by surprise, and at first he doesn’t even hear his name being called from the side rows until he turns around and notices Mike waving at him, inviting Eddie to sit next to him.

Their eyes have already met, so there is no point in pretending that Eddie didn’t hear him, and he crosses the hall and sits down next to Mike, responding to his wide smile with his short one, dancing just on the barely upturned edges of his lips.

Just before the event starts, Richie sits down next to him.

It’s so unexpected that Eddie only realizes what is happening when Richie throws his arms around him, hugging him tightly, and pinches him on the cheek with a delighted smile on his face.

“Where is Léa?” Mike asks over Eddie's shoulder, frowning as he takes the bottle of water Richie handed him.

“She’s not feeling well, I’ll go to her’s after,” Richie answers and unzips his backpack, showing its contents. “She loves peanut butter, so I bought a box of Reese's to cheer her up.”

A melody suddenly starts playing from the side of the stage, and the light gradually begins to dim, and the students hurry to sit down in their places.

“Damn, Rich, be my boyfriend,” Mike says jokingly, taking a sip of water.

Grinning, Richie zips up his backpack and settles down in the chair. “Sorry, darling, but that ship sailed a long time ago.”

Mike's possible response is interrupted when the dean and presenters walk onto the stage, and the lights completely went out by now, apart from the spotlights aimed at the stage. Applause echoes in Eddie’s head like white noise, an unnecessary buzz lost in the background of thoughts, and there’s only one thought he has, deafening and quiet, worn out at the same time.

_And you didn't make it._

His chest begins to constrict again, and a lump in his throat makes it difficult to breathe and even swallow only to have his mouth dry up instantly, and Eddie looks down at his hands, finding himself gripping the armrests, almost on the verge of crackling.

Abruptly relaxing his grip, he runs his palms over his jeans to hide the noticeable tremor running through his fingers.

“Eds?” Richie's voice breaks him out of his stupor, and Eddie turns his head, meeting his concerned eyes dimmed by confusion. “Are you feeling okay? You look... weird.”

And fuck, Eddie knows what he looks like.

How he’s looked for the past month, maybe even longer.

He likes to blame the midterms for his lack of sleep and malnutrition, but all exams came to an end almost a week ago, and since then he has barely been sleeping for three hours a day.

It's not that bad, in a way, because insomnia leaves a lot of free time for things like friends, TV shows, books, and personal life. Only the Losers' texts still haven't been read, the calls haven't been answered, and Eddie doesn't remember the last time he spoke to someone for more than five minutes.

The bags under his eyes and sharper facial features, fortunately, aren’t that noticeable yet without paying attention too closely, so Eddie doesn’t let anyone near him and when he feels someone looking at him for too long, he lowers his head and hurriedly says goodbye, coming up with another excuse.

Richie's eyes take in his face like he wants to drink in every feature, to refresh his unwillingly faint memory of Eddie, and Eddie turns away just as abruptly and puts on the jacket that had previously rested on his lap.

“Yeah, I don’t feel so good. I'll probably go.”

Rising as quietly and imperceptibly as possible from his armchair in the semi-darkness of the hall, so as not to disturb anyone, Eddie hears Mike asking where he’s going and wants to repeat his words again until he feels the touch on his hand.

It’s almost electrifying, and every nerve under his buzzing skin seems to heat up, and even the trembling in his fingers stops, leaving behind only numbness.

“Stay,” Richie asks in a whisper, clinging to his chance as Eddie freezes in place. ”Stay, let's go somewhere later. We haven't spoken for so long... I miss my spaghetti.”

And fuck, that stupid, ridiculous nickname, of all the things Eddie expected to hear right now.

Something in Richie's voice, in his desperate whisper, makes him stop, and Eddie turns to meet his eyes again, finds the same thing that’s been quietly knitting its way through the blue irises in the last months.

When did the adoration and sparks of amusement in Richie's eyes turn into concern and... longing?

Eddie hates that look, hates the way it makes him feel — the same fucking guilt, because he knows that he’s hurting Richie, but it’s for the best. Better this way, better _this_ pain, this sorrow, than disgust that’ll surely darken those eyes if Richie finds out the reason for his sudden withdrawal, what incurably, irrevocably poisoned their friendship.

Words swirl on the tip of his tongue, leaving a bitter, unpleasant aftertaste behind.

_I can’t stay, because later you will go to her._

“I really don’t feel good, sorry,” Eddie says instead, looking down to where Richie’s hand still touches his wrist, so gentle yet dizzying.

Everything he can feel now— every heated nerve, every numbing emotion— has come down to this touch, to the warm, just a bit rough feel Richie’s skin on his, and for the first time, probably in the last couple of minutes, Eddie lets oxygen fill his constricting lungs.

He expects Richie to continue insisting, to grab his wrist tighter and pull, refusing to let go, as he always did if Eddie could not or did not want to go somewhere with him or, on the contrary, tried to leave. He waits for Richie to grab him by the forearm and pull him out of the building before driving him into a corner, a dead end, and making Eddie spill the truth, see right through his poorly played little act, refusing to put up with his phony excuses.

However, Richie's gaze, filled with the same pleading, soaked with sadness that doesn't suit him at all, also falls on where their hands intertwine, and the next moment he lets go of Eddie and nods, putting a brief smile on his barely chapped lips.

“Another time, then.”

Someone in the back row shushes them, asking to move away so as not to block the stage, and Eddie flinches and finally takes a step forward, feeling Richie's fingers slide like tar down his wrist until they finally let go.

The cool air outside is not sobering in the slightest, and Eddie is kind of disappointed that he can’t and never was eager to smoke, because he would definitely not refuse a cigarette right now, soothing and clouding all the thoughts.

Rationally, Eddie understands that then he would have to call an ambulance in advance, because his lungs could hardly have endured even one short puff, but now it doesn’t even matter. Somewhere in the back of his mind he is frightened by the sudden indifference, this feeling like he’s standing on the verge of emotional paralysis and the urge to scream his throat raw, and Eddie wraps himself deeper in his jacket and heads towards his dorm building.

His bed is unmade, and this is another one of the many red flags he pushes away, ignores like it’s nothing, leaving his backpack near the door and opening a small window. The stale air is soon replaced by pleasant coolness, and Eddie rubs his face tiredly, getting the hair which he almost stopped styling like before, in the morning, that has fallen on his forehead out of his face, and finally releasing the tension in his shoulders.

He is wearing dark pants, a simple shirt and a jacket, and when Eddie falls on the bed, he doesn’t take anything off, not even thinking about the pajamas hanging from the back of the chair and instead turning over on his back and staring at the ceiling.

_Another time, then._

It does not seem to him that this _another time_ may come, and if it does, Eddie surely won't be able to handle it. And this is so ridiculous and new, because before, next to Richie, he relaxed, forgot about all his ills and problems, allowing Richie to immerse him into ridiculous jokes and endless hugs, feeling so carefree and happy, that he hardly believed it’d been true.

Now he doesn’t believe it at all.

Despite all the things Eddie's mother has said, despite her belief in how fragile and delicate he was, Richie always told him that he was brave. That he is stronger than he thinks, than others think, stronger than everyone they know, and Eddie believed him, because Richie had never lied to him, never had a reason to.

Eddie doesn’t have enough fingers to count how many times he lied to Richie in response to his sincerity. To his desire to see each other, to do anything just not to stop talking. And these lies make him feel even worse, because not only does Eddie not deserve to call himself Richie’s best friend, but has the nerve to lie to him, drowning in his forged, made-up tales with every twisted half-truth.

He notices the tears as one of them trickles down his temple, gets lost in his hair, leaving a chilling trail in the gusts of wind from the half-opened window.

The place where Richie's hand touched his, delicately and at the same time desperately, burns, as if he touched something forbidden that’s left a mark behind, and when Eddie runs the heels of his hands over his eyes, gathering the tears soaking his eyelashes, his skin sizzles at the touch.

Perhaps it’s all in his head, and frankly, this is not the first time Eddie imagines something that isn’t there — hears a voice calling him by name and when he turns around, he doesn’t find anyone, and clings to every curly-haired head, feeling his heart stop in his chest until the person turns around and turns out to be a random stranger, without mischievous sparks in his eyes and an endless smile, a little crooked, but no less sincere.

Perhaps it's because he hardly sleeps at night.

Perhaps it’s because a person needs society, communication and to regularly splash out emotions so that they don’t devour him, leaving behind only a limp, paralyzed body.

Perhaps Eddie himself is the one to blame.

A violent sob fights its way from his chest, and Eddie opens his eyes and through tears looks down at where Richie’s fingers have grazed his wrist, and sees only a trembling, unusually pale hand.

No traces, no mark, nothing, and he is grateful for that, because imagination, his morbid fantasy, seems to know its limits. The only mark Richie’s left on him can’t be seen from the surface, because then Eddie would have to rip out his heart to see the fingerprints left there by the painfully familiar hands.

One tear after another, third, fourth, and the metallic taste of blood swirls on his tongue, and Eddie realizes that he bit his lip only after he breathes in the evening air, closing his eyes and bringing his quivering fingers to his mouth.

He no longer longs for a smoke, but the same scream gets stuck in his throat along with a heavy lump, and Eddie buries his face in the pillow, forgetting the blood that could stain it, and finally lets it out.

Lets out the rage and despair, guilt and pain, for which he is to blame, hurting those close to him, and Bill's worried look flashes before his eyes, while Mike's voice, not understanding why Eddie is leaving, repeats over and over again in his head, but all of it fades next to Richie's eyes, which seem to have been burned out under his eyelids, so deeply it’s impossible to hide from them, and his hand on Eddie's arm. On his knee, wrapped around his shoulders, always playing and messing up his hair, but now it’s not Eddie who he’s hugging, not him who Richie jokingly throws over his shoulder and tickles to hysterical laughter and tears.

The scream fades away when the oxygen runs out in his lungs, but Eddie can’t let go of the pillow covering, hiding his face, can’t breathe, because this is all too much, and he can’t deal with it anymore.

He is not strong, not even close, and his mother was right when she said how vulnerable he is and how carefully he must be treated, not letting anything and anyone that could somehow hurt Eddie close to him.

Only she probably couldn’t have even imagined then that Eddie would be the one to ruin himself. That her delicate, pure and innocent Eddie will fall in love with Richie Tozier, that nasty boy who she’s always told her son to stay away from, and these feelings will slowly shatter him, tear him apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left.

And if she knew, she would call it a _disease_ , would try to cure him, and Eddie is so done with lying to himself that he can admit now that he might have agreed. Anything, as long as everything returns back to its place. 

So that jealousy he shouldn’t be feeling and the bitterness of loss for which he is to blame would not tear him apart any longer. So that he could look into Richie's eyes and see not sadness in them, but the usual joy and tenderness that warmed him even on the lousiest days.

So that Eddie would stop loving him.

But it’s impossible, and Eddie knows it. He was carrying this love in his heart for years, and it blossomed under every smile Richie sent him, every touch of their hands and every secret told in the dark of their childhood bedrooms, not even suspecting its existence.

It would’ve been better if Eddie didn’t know, staying blissfully ignorant and repressing the feelings he couldn’t describe trying to claw their way out of his chest every time he saw Richie with someone else. It would’ve been better if Richie never met Léa, if Bill never introduced them, if he and Richie stayed with each other forever, if...

_“Stop!”_

The scream echoes off the walls, and Eddie notices that he has stopped hiding his face in the tear-soaked pillow only after he hears his own voice, fierce and aching, deafening to the point of no return.

He shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t be jealous of someone else's happiness, shouldn’t wish something so vile to anyone, let alone his best friend. Richie did nothing wrong by falling in love with someone else, and Léa is not to blame for that, either.

And Eddie cries his heart out, choking with tears, feeling so disgusted with himself and his overwhelming thoughts and feelings, wants to sink his nails into his itchy skin, ignoring the trembling on the tips of his fingers, and rip it off, letting the coolness of the chill evening calm the pounding heart in his chest.

“Please, stop.”

His voice, the shattered whisper of a torn heart, settles on the walls, and Eddie feels himself giving up. The emptiness of the room presses down on him, forcing Eddie to burrow himself as deeply into the bed as possible, dive under the covers, anywhere, just to get rid of that voice in his head.

_Please, I don’t want to feel it anymore. It hurts so much, it hurts so fucking much, please stop, let everything just go back to the way it was._

_I don't want to love Richie._

_Please, stop._

That night he once again falls asleep with tears in his eyes.

***

There is almost no snow in California, and the sun, warming up more and more with every day, paints late February in the colors of spring waiting for its turn just around the corner.

Professors don’t stop talking about the upcoming exams, despite the fact that midterms have just come to an end, but this does not prevent students from spending hours outside, spreading blankets right on the grass next to the main entrance, sunbathing and chatting about everything and nothing.

Freckles make their way back onto Eddie's cheeks and nose, becoming more noticeable with each passing day, standing out against his skin that has yet had time to tan in warm, dark flecks.

Last spring, he ran outside to bathe in the sun that didn't come this early in Derry at the first opportunity, but now Eddie spends most of his time either in class, locked in stuffy classrooms with broken air conditioning, or in his room, with his window and his curtains closed almost all the time, and a playlist which he made a long time ago in case of _melancholy_.

Ed Sheeran's soothing voice flows out of the phone's speakers, and Eddie is getting ready for some masterclass which he was signed up to along with a couple of classmates.

Honestly, he doesn’t really have the desire to leave his room, because he is already so used to these four walls, where no one sees, hears or can reach him, that the mere thought of going somewhere without the absolute necessity sends a chill down his spine.

His classmate, one of those with whom Eddie meets today, invited him to go to a cafe after the masterclass, just to chat and have a fun Friday night. Eddie refuses automatically though, because the words "sorry, I'm busy today" are already burnt on the tongue.

Eddie doesn't remember the last time he went out with someone.

A week ago Stan texted him and offered to watch the new James Bond movie together, about a week and a half ago Bev asked if he would like to come over, and the day before yesterday Richie texted him for the umpteenth time that he wanted to go to some concert in a bar nearby.

His refusal doesn’t surprise anyone, including himself.

The last time he and Richie saw each other was a glimpse in the hall full of other students, exchanging a few quick, restrained words, and were in each other's company for more than a couple of minutes that very time, in the assembly hall.

There are fewer and fewer texts from Richie every day, but they do not disappear completely — he continues to write to Eddie, whether it’s a meme or a short description of what happened to him during the day.

Almost all messages remain unanswered.

Answering makes less and less sense with each of them.

Eddie is so used to the ache in his chest, right in the solar plexus, echoing to the left, that he takes it as a given, ignores it like white noise, something incurable and inevitable.

And he hoped it would get better with time, but it's almost March on the calendar, and this vile feeling of guilt and self-loathing only gets stronger every time he chokes on his tears at night.

They, too, become a habit, and it is easier to count the days when Eddie doesn’t cry, blinking the tears that appear in his eyes away and suppressing the feelings that creep from the depths of his heart, than the days when he can’t calm down, his whole body shaking for hours in soundless crying, because there are no more tears left to cry.

Eddie doesn't know how many of these nights he can take.

He doesn't know and doesn't want to know how many more texts will have to be ignored before Richie finally lets go, leaves him alone and lets Eddie’s love choke him, painfully slowly strangling either him or itself.

And fuck, fate really decided to take it all out on him, because after the masterclass, sometime around nine in the evening, Eddie decides to go to the store, because for the first time in the last couple of days he has a real appetite, the bones already unhealthily protruding from under the skin on his fragile wrists, just like the pointed collarbones against his narrow shoulders, and it’s there that he runs into Beverly.

She is alone, which is strange, because Bev is rarely near their university, preferring to spend her free time either with Ben or at her college, and this means only one thing — she was meeting with Mike, Bill or Richie.

”Eddie!” Her voice is joyful and so startled that Eddie’s heart drops, knocking him out of his stupor. “I didn't expect to see you at all! God, how are you? How is studying?”

“It's okay, I'm fine,” Eddie finally finds his voice, smiling at her, and enters the store, and Beverly follows him inside.

This is the first sincere smile in a long time, the first time in recent months when he is genuinely glad to see someone, because he missed her so much, as he missed all the Losers, that he already feels tears starting to burn his eyes.

Eddie instantly turns away, blinking rapidly and looking around the store shelves for what he's come for, and Beverly follows him, the grocery bag in her hand.

“What about you?” He asks, stopping next to the chips and looking over the packages to avoid Bev's eyes.

Shrugging, she doesn’t stop smiling, but her smile changes from happy and unexpected to sad, and it doesn't suit her that way.

“I’m good. Ben is doing an internship in Chicago, so I'm on my own for the next two weeks,” Beverly says, looking away for a moment. “But I have all of you, so it's not that bad.”

 _All of you_ , Eddie thinks, clinging to her words. You, not the Losers, so she still considers him a part of them.

He bites his cheek and forces away the tears coming with renewed vigor.

“I can't even imagine how I would feel if I were you.”

This is a lie, an arrogant and shameless one — Eddie perfectly understands how Bev feels now, because he himself is stuck in this Hell and with each attempt to get out, he drowns even deeper. He is painfully familiar with what it feels like to be separated from the person he loves, and not being able to kiss him, touch his hand and, pulling him into the tightest hug, never letting go.

Eddie hands the cashier a bottle of soda and nachos with cheese, and Beverly doesn’t comment on his choice, even though they all know his opinion on coke and other harmful sodas that his mother forbade him to drink.

There is a small park not far from the store with a small fountain surrounded by benches, and the sun has almost gone down, leaving behind only the heat-soaked asphalt and a warm breeze swaying the bushes scattered along the square.

Beverly and Eddie sit down on one of the benches, and he tears open a package of nachos, leaving it between them and thus inviting Bev to help herself, and she takes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her jacket, and a moment later, in the half-darkness of the square illuminated by flickering lanterns, a puff of smoke floats into the sky after her first drag.

She smokes only if something has happened and she wants to get rid of unpleasant thoughts or, conversely, get into her own head, and Eddie doesn’t want to know what exactly became the reason now.

“We miss you, you know? A lot.”

The tears that he had already forced away once again gather in the corners of his eyes.

Looking down, Eddie wipes his fingers covered with crumbs on his jeans and takes a deep breath to pull himself together and take the time to quickly invent a new excuse. And he really doesn't want to do this, just wants to let go of himself, bury his face in Beverly's shoulder and cry, pour out his soul to her, but he can’t.

“Especially Richie.”

She always noticed that they singled each other out from the rest. That they always went everywhere together, refusing to part for even a moment, and were constantly arguing, but this was always a part of their thing, something that only he and Richie shared.

Eddie feels the walls he’s built around his heart crumbling treacherously, falling apart brick after brick, and with them the first of many tears falls down his cheek, which, he knows, a few minutes later will trace his face, betraying the secret he fought so hard to keep.

“If you could just explain what...” Beverly begins, but Eddie’s shuddering breath catches her attention, and she puts out her cigarette on the railing of the bench, immediately touching his hand. “Dear, why are you crying?”

“I just…” he can’t find his voice, can’t find the right words to say, because he’s not thinking clearly, feeling the roar in his temples fighting to break out. “Bev, I…”

The package rustles between them when Beverly abruptly moves closer and wraps her arms around him, burying her fingers in his messy, uncut hair and pressing his head to her chest, and Eddie wants to pull away and stay in her arms forever at the same time.

Every sob is met with a soothing whisper, quiet words that _it’s okay, you can tell me anything,_ and Eddie shakes his head, burying his face wet with tears deeper into her jacket.

Even though Beverly loves to know everything and pry to no end, she never actually forced him to say what he didn’t want to share, and now is no exception.

“You can tell me everything, Eddie, you know that?”

_You know you can tell me anything, right?_

He shakes his head, sobbing and clinging to the soft hands that hold him as close as possible. Eddie's shoulders are shaking shallowly with each sob, and he tries to calm down, but these words, a simple question, are spinning in his head like a broken record, and the tears don’t want to stop.

Eddie doesn't know how long it takes before he finally calms down, but Beverly still doesn't let go of him, even as he sits up straighter and wipes his cheeks before finally meeting her eyes. Taking his face in, clinging to every detail, Beverly purses her lips and touches his cheek, a subtle smell of cigarette smoke on her gentle fingers, and he sniffs again, closing his eyes and exhaling.

Eddie is so tired of hiding, so he allows her to look at him, to see him and draw any conclusions she comes to, and never for a moment does he doubt that she will come to the right one, see through him in a shattered heartbeat.

He knows he looks awful, with dark circles under his eyes, raw-bitten lips and a shifty gaze as erratic as the nervous tick in his trembling fingers.

As for Bev... It's hard to find words to describe how she looks right now. Sad, maybe, with her eyes laced with emotion, longing and regret, and Eddie doesn't want to think that this is all because of _him._

“We can't help you, Eddie, until you help yourself,” she whispers softly, stroking his cheek. “Please let us help you.”

Closing his eyes, Eddie bites his quivering lip and covers Beverly's hands with his, stroking her wrist briefly before pulling away.

“I can't,” he whispers faintly. “Sorry, Bev, but I can't.”

And she doesn’t press for an answer, doesn’t demand an explanation from him, just lowers her arms and sighs, and when Eddie finally meets her tormented eyes, he sees tears in them.

He had never seen Beverly cry before.

Eddie doesn't know which is worse — her surrendered, resigned nod or complete apathy, not a single word in return. And this is not out of indifference, no, because he knows perfectly well that Beverly cares, but something in his tear-soaked eyes seemed to have let her know that there is no point in asking questions.

Perhaps she already found the answer there.

“Good night, Bev,” he says quietly, smiling briefly, and hugs her one last time, pulling back before she can answer his hug, because it’s too much.

Eddie is not sure if he will be able to hold back the words tearing from within his worn-out soul if he feels her caring hands on his wounded skin again.

“Good night, Eddie,” Beverly whispers back, answering his short smile with her own and squeezing his hand tightly before letting go.

It does not take more than five minutes to get home, and Eddie realizes that he left the food he bought in the park only after getting into his bed.

Tonight he once again falls asleep with tears in his eyes.

***

It doesn't get any easier.

And Eddie would be surprised if he had the strength left for it.

Yes, he got used to feelings choking him from within, overwhelming him twenty-four hours a day — anger, jealousy, self-flagellation, longing and, most importantly, guilt. But this does not mean that he doesn’t miss anything, that he isn’t in pain, that his heart doesn’t squeeze painfully every time something or someone reminds him of what he decided to give up, forever erased from his life.

Eddie tries to suppress these emotions, tries to let them slide with everything that’s left, still beats in his crumbling heart, but it turns out... not very well.

To put it mildly.

Every day he more and more resembles a shadow, a ghost of his former self. And worried looks become a habit too, and Eddie no longer twitches every time someone asks is he’s feeling okay.

Because if he himself looked in the mirror, he wouldn’t fail to notice his puffy eyes, either from the lack of sleep, or from irritating friction in attempts to ward off tears, and a pale, unhealthy color of skin caused by the lack of sun and inner harmony.

Eddie had already forgotten what it was like to be in this very harmony with himself.

And when he dares to think that everything’s getting better, that the worst is left behind and very soon everything will be okay again— perhaps, he will even be able to get back with the Losers, as if nothing had happened at all, because he knows that they will take him back— as all the calmness built by Eddie and this pitiful parody of happiness on your own collapse for the last time, finally and irrevocably.

The clock shows almost two in the morning, and he is lying in his bed, torn between pointlessly looking through his social media feed and staring at the ceiling, which, it seems, has already been imprinted on the inside of his eyelids, when a notification pops up on his phone.

Easily dismissing it and returning his gaze to the completely uninteresting emptiness of the room, already attuned to the smallest details, Eddie sighs and closes his eyes, deciding to go to bed or at least pretend to, because it's unlikely he will fall asleep, anyway. 

Until it finally hits him.

Convulsively clinging to his already turned off phone, Eddie opens his Snapchat with trembling hands and for a long moment looks at the icon of the picture that came seconds ago. It’s from Richie.

And there is nothing wrong with this, even though Richie almost stopped texting him, as if he gives up with every passing day, with every unanswered message, but now, for some reason, Eddie is shaking.

It’s a picture, a portion of churros with caramel in an empty diner, where they used to go almost every week when they wanted to hide from the rest of the world, and all their worries and problems, and just be alone with each other.

He doesn't know how to respond, and tears haven't been intruding lately to make his already miserable days even worse.

Eddie feels himself nearing the verge of hysterics, stands on the very edge, and only a light ripple of wind, a small push, is enough to push him over it. And he realizes that he is unlikely to be able to withstand it now, after all that he had to go through because Richie can’t just fucking let go.

It's not that hard, not texting or calling, just letting Eddie do what's best for both of them, but Richie doesn't seem to care because there's no other way Eddie can explain this fucking text.

Along with the decreasing number of texts and attempts to contact, Richie began to disappear both in his profile and in the others’ — if earlier Eddie opened his Instagram feed and saw almost weekly posts from The Losers, capturing a smiling or laughing Richie, sometimes with his arms hugging Léa… Even stories, posted by Richie almost every day, because he could not help but share his life with the world. 

But now these posts are so rare, and even if Richie appears in one of them, there’s no usual smile or joyful expression on his face and funny grimaces for private stories.

Eddie doesn't want to think about it, though, doesn't want to think about what is happening in Richie's life, because Richie has someone to take care of him, and he certainly won't text and ask if everything is alright.

And he wants to clench the phone in his hand, almost hoping for it to crack, and throw it into the wall, just to put an end to this Hell, finally erase it and forget, he can no longer do this, can’t hold back his feelings, can't pretend everything's okay, can't lie to himself or Richie when the phone vibrates again.

His tear-clouded gaze falls on the screen that is too bright in the dimly lit room, to read just a couple of words.

_remember when we’d talk all night?_

A ripple of wind, in just a few words, knocks him down and pushes him over the edge.

A strangled sob escapes Eddie's throat, and for a moment he can’t breathe, can’t pull himself together, regain control of his breathing, and his heart breaks, every torn string echoing through his shattered body.

Eddie wants to scream, get to his feet and break into the fucking diner to throw it in Richie's face. He remembers, even if he doesn't want to, remembers the tremble in his fingers and doubts that he can forget all those hours spent together under the cover of summer nights, every secret whisper, every intimate, secret smile, every warm look and touch of hands that were once his home.

Eddie does not know which is worse — living without Richie, without any memories of him, never knowing him at all, or remembering every moment, every second of shared happiness, but realizing that he will never get Richie the way he so desperately wants. Continue torturing himself, until the last tear, the last sob, the last trembling breath, or let go, come to terms with the fact that it's over, and continue his worthless life.

Any life without Richie is worthless, and Eddie would give everything not to know it at all.

But he has been living it for months now, existing, making his way through the gray mass of days that have begun to blur together. He’s been coping with the last of his strength, but realizes that he can’t do it anymore, can’t get through this living nightmare and get out of it stronger than ever.

Because Eddie is weak, he’s a fucking coward, can’t even find it in himself to pull himself together and type a simple answer, just a few words to calm Richie down or just shut him up, tell him to go fuck himself and ask him never to text again.

He should’ve done it from the very beginning instead of withdrawing and pretending that everything is fine, put a fucking end to it, say goodbye and cross Richie out of his life without the slightest chance of coming back.

But his hands are still shaking, Eddie still can’t breathe, and the text is still unanswered, and he clicks the phone off and hugs his shaking shoulders, trying to stifle his ravaged cries.

Why does Richie need to complicate things? Why does he keep torturing him, keeps texting and pretending not to understand what's going on and why Eddie is doing all this?

_Is it that hard?_

_Is it that hard to let go?_

“I remember, Rich,” Eddie whispers into the emptiness of the room, burying his face wet with tears in his palms and biting his lips until he tastes copper in a vain attempt to calm down.

_Of course I remember._

_And I couldn’t forget, even if I wanted to._

***

_I really need that The Beatles CD I left at yours at the beginning of the year. Can you look for it?_

Bill is the only one with whom Eddie still maintains at least some kind of contact, and even though they don’t talk like they did before, staying on the surface and not daring to dive deeper, Eddie appreciates it.

He is grateful that Bill doesn’t press, doesn’t insist and try to intervene, save him, pull him out of this hole Eddie dug for himself, he really is grateful, but still can’t stop thinking that this is not what it’s supposed to be every time he sees Bill.

This is not what it’s supposed to be — they should be laughing, sharing every detail of their lives with each other, from start to finish, and experience absolutely everything together, like for many years before, their entire childhood. But Eddie himself chose this path, drove himself into this cage, and if Bill respects his decision and doesn’t press, doesn’t make everything worse, but is content with what he has and gives him space, then Eddie has no right to complain.

**_Sure. You can stop by for it this evening?_ **

His hands are habitually shaking as he types the text, and Eddie can't even explain why.

He and Bill saw each other about a week ago, when they met in the cafeteria and Mike noticed him at the checkout and offered to sit with them. And Eddie wanted to refuse and retreat somewhere in the corridor to have lunch alone, finishing his homework at the same time, when Mike added that Richie wasn’t with them today.

And he was so sickened that Mike felt the need to tell him about it, clung to these words like bait, something that Eddie could not turn down, that his already weak appetite left him completely.

He doesn't want to think about why Richie didn't have lunch with Bill and Mike and when this has become a way to persuade Eddie to go somewhere, to convince him that there is no danger, that he can relax, as if it was all about Richie.

Is that so, though?

No, not even close. Because Eddie isn't running from Richie. He's running from himself.

And he loses the race, time after time.

_I’ll try._

Turning off the phone, Eddie puts it in his backpack and returns his attention to the professor, sometimes taking notes and pulling down the hood covering his head. The light in the lecture hall is always absurdly bright, and his eyes, dry and sore after sleepless nights, can hardly bear it.

After his classes are over, Eddie hastily collects his things and returns to his dorm to find the CD among the junk scattered around the room. He doesn't even want to think about when was the last time he cleaned the dorm, and in the process of searching he rummages through the bedside table, where he usually stores all sorts of CDs and cassettes.

One falls down from the top shelf, with a bunch of smiley faces and a couple of not entirely appropriate phrases drawn all over it, and for a moment Eddie freezes, looking at the cassette falling to the floor, one of many that Richie made for him.

It’s a mixtape, and he remembers listening to it throughout his entire junior year, too embarrassed to admit to it, and they never talked about this mixtape radically differing from all those that Richie had made for him before, with the best of rock, alternative music and even hip-hop.

Because the first time Eddie listened to it, on a warm July night, right after the Losers left after his seventeenth birthday, he lay awake in his bed until dawn, unable to find words.

That night, for a desperate, brief moment it seemed to him that this might mean something. That Richie made this mixtape for a reason, that he chose these songs on purpose, wanted to tell Eddie something by them. And now, almost three years later with the path that they’ve taken behind, gradually becoming closer and closer until there were almost no barriers left just to reach the inescapable downfall, Eddie lets out a choked laugh.

Picking up the mixtape and putting it back in the box, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing away the unnecessary self-pity and his seventeen-year-old clueless naivety. It was just a bunch of songs, just music that Richie thought he might like, and it doesn’t mean anything.

Eddie texts Bill that he found the CD and puts it on the desk before taking out his laptop to finish writing his thesis, which is due in a few days.

Time flies by, and studying helps to drive away the unwelcome thoughts and speculations rushing into his mind, and Eddie is almost finished with writing when he hears a knock on the door.

“Open,” he calls out, without turning around, and immediately clears his throat, because it's the first time, probably, in recent days, when he spoke in a full voice.

The door opens behind him, and Eddie quickly types out the closing sentences, oblivious to the sound of the closing lock reaching his ears fifteen seconds later, as if Bill froze in the doorway and collected his thoughts before finally coming in. He reaches out to close the laptop when he hears a voice addressing him.

“Erm, hi. I came for the CD.”

Eddie freezes in place, and it takes him a long moment to pull himself together.

Behind him, Richie clears his throat, and Eddie can picture him now unconsciously tugging at the hem of his shirt.

Their gazes meet when he finally turns in his chair to face Richie, who has a tiny smile on his face. A momentary glance into Richie's eyes for the first time in weeks is enough to make his barely collected composure almost fall apart again.

He can’t find a voice, either from surprise or from fear, which for some unknown reason sneaks under his skin, getting stuck in his throat along with words, so he clears his throat again before asking the obvious question, breaking the fragile silence.

“Where's Bill?”

It comes out harsher than Eddie intended, and he holds back the urge to close his eyes until he opens them and finds that he’s alone in the room again.

Richie is obviously thinking the same thing, because as soon as the question leaves Eddie's mouth, the smile disappears from his lips, and he frowns slightly and looks away, noticing the CD lying on the edge of the table.

“He changed his plans last minute, so...'' he trails off, looking at Eddie again, as if he wants him to finish the sentence himself, come to terms with the fact that this could not be avoided.

They look at each other without saying a word because both seem to be at a loss for what to say, and Richie's eyes change from being full of hope that burned there when he first walked in, to acceptance and… apathy.

And how the hell did they end up like this? How did they get to the point where they can't find a single word, and the air in the room is charged, soaked with chilling tension, and Eddie can’t find his breath.

He wasn’t ready for this, didn’t have enough time to get himself together or even clean up, build another concrete wall around his bare feelings to meet Richie face to face, to be left alone with him and not to _break_.

And how many months have passed, three? Four? Can't he give Richie the fucking CD without breaking down like a child with no control over his own feelings?

“Okay,” Eddie agrees quietly, turning away and not noticing how Richie traces his every movement when he takes the CD and, for some unknown reason, glancing at it briefly, hands it to him.

Their hands don't touch when Richie takes the CD, and Eddie is grateful for that, because he not only feels but hears something deep inside him ripping apart, cracking at the seams under Richie’s gaze, as if he is trying to look inside, behind this mask that doesn't look like Eddie at all, because he knows it isn't him.

Eddie doesn't know where he finds the strength to continue to play this fucking act of casualness, and when Richie finally puts the CD in his backpack, he turns away and takes a deep breath to pull himself together and hide any emotions that might’ve inadvertently appeared on his face.

Closing the laptop, Eddie puts it aside and gets up from the chair, not turning to face Richie and starting to clean the desk, waiting for him to finally leave. And Richie seems to be about to do just that, but pauses at the last moment.

“You still wear it.”

His voice catches Eddie by surprise once again, and he freezes, trying to figure out what Richie’s talking about.

“The thread. You still wear it,” Richie explains, as if reading his thoughts, and smiles, so briefly and bitterly that Eddie feels something tear in his chest, ice-cold pouring out of the oozing, open wound.

Eddie's eyes fall on the red thread wrapped around his wrist, with an already worn out pendant, which he unconsciously rubs when he’s nervous, and his eyes begin to burn treacherously.

“Why not?”

Eddie still avoids his gaze, but he can feel it on his skin, right in between his shoulder blades, burning through him, and his chest grows tighter with every passing moment.

“You tell me, Eddie.”

 _Eddie_.

Not Eds, not Spaghetti, not another stupid nickname, and salty tears gather in the corners of his eyes, because it’s no longer the same.

And Eddie looks for an answer, tries to find a reasonable excuse, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It’s like something switches in Richie, and Eddie has never heard his voice like this.

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Eddie. You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.”

It's useless to fight back, and Eddie understands that there is no point in pretending he doesn't know what Richie means, because it will only make everything worse, and the last thing he needs now is to make a scene.

Why can't Richie just fucking leave?

Eddie's first sob is lost in the air as Richie’s voice rises with every word.

“You completely disappear, pretend that we don’t know each other, and I can count on one hand how many times we’ve talked over the last couple of months,” Richie begins, probably burying his fingers in his hair. “You can't even fucking look me in the eyes.”

His voice echoes off the walls, and he seems to notice his sudden loudness and takes a deep breath in an attempt to quell the hurricane already gathering under his skin.

“Please just tell me what happened.”

Eddie's shoulders tense, and he grips the edge of the table, biting his cheek painfully to hold back the words trying to rush out, a desperate scream to shut Richie up, to voice everything that has been pulling up in him all this time, and naked, poisonous anger boils inside him.

“I can't, Richie,” he whispers.

Richie's pleading voice crashes into Eddie's back in a wave, and he still can't find the strength to turn around.

“Why?”

_For your own good, it’s better that way, don’t you understand? It’s better if we part like this, it’s better for you to think that I got bored of you, that I don’t want to be friends anymore, than hate me for how I feel about you._

_Just let me go._

“Why?” Eddie asks, and his voice cuts the tense silence soaked in plea and confusion into small pieces. "Do you really want to know why, Richie?"

His eyes finally find the blue, full of anger and despair, a desire to understand and return everything to its place, and Eddie can no longer keep it all to himself.

“Don't you understand that it will be better this way?”

Richie's fists clench in tension and anger, and even though Eddie knows Richie would never lay a hand on him, he still takes a step back, pressing his hips against the edge of the table.

“No, Eddie, I don't understand! Everything was fine at the beginning of the year, and then out of nowhere you start avoiding me, and now you say that all of this is for the best! We're _best fucking friends,_ you can't just cross me out of your life without an explanation,” Richie's voice is laced with irritation and despair, and it’s obvious that he makes a lot of effort not to raise his voice, and his next words come out much quieter. “I miss you. Please, give me a chance to fix it... Fuck, I don't even know what I did wrong, but please just give me a chance to make it right.”

“I can’t!” Eddie interrupts him, breaking into a scream, and immediately covers his face with his palms, hiding from the startled, pained look in Richie’s eyes, because he can’t look at him right now. “I couldn't do it anymore, Richie. I needed time, because it was tearing me apart from the inside, and I didn't want to ruin our friendship, but…”

Richie’s voice sounds softer, as if he’s fighting the urge to come closer, reach out and touch, asking softly, pleadingly, “What is it?”

And Eddie breaks, because he can no longer choke on these words, can’t keep them to himself and wait for them to tear him apart.

He surrenders, deafening and final.

“I love you, Richie. Fuck, I... I love you so much. And before, I thought it was nothing, that I get butterflies in my stomach every time you’re around, but when I saw you with Léa…” His voice cracks, and the first tears finally fall from his eyelashes, leaving behind wet paths on his pale, sunken cheeks. “She’s so sweet, and I see how perfect you are for each other, how happy you are with her, and it’s killing me, Richie, and I hate myself even more. I should be your best friend, I should support you in everything, and I sincerely wish you only happiness, but…”

Eddie can imagine Richie's look, feels it on his skin, but can’t take his eyes off his trembling hands and sobs, screwing his eyes shut and forcing away the tears getting in the way of his words.

“It’s just… _I_ want to be the person who makes you happy. I want to make you laugh, hold your hand, cheer you up, I want to be your favorite person, the one who you ask for help and support, at any time of the day and for any reason. I want to kiss you awake, cook breakfast with you and spend all our free time together kissing you whenever I want, but I know that it’s impossible, and it tears me apart. I can't be your friend anymore. I can't cry myself to sleep anymore, can't hide it, can’t fight my feelings and try to get rid of them, because they poison me, Rich. And it hurts so fucking much to see how happy you are with someone else... Forgive me, but I can't do this anymore. It hurts and I can't take it.”

He is lost in his own words, and hysteria pushes him off the edge. Eddie’s kept it to himself for too long, and every word, every whispered secret bursts out of his numb chest with a deafening roar.

All the pain he’s kept in himself like a vessel, ignoring and pushing it away as far as possible, into the deepest corner of his shattered soul, hits him like a truck, and Eddie covers his mouth with his shaking hand, trying to suppress these horrible sobs, hide his cries, but only makes it worse.

Richie's hands gently touching his shaking shoulders almost knocks him off his feet, and Eddie finds neither the strength nor the desire to recoil, crawl into the farthest corner and beg him to leave him alone.

And before he can find his voice again, before he can gather his thoughts and ask for forgiveness, take all he’s said back and beg him to forget it forever, Richie presses him to his chest, hugging him tightly and burying one hand in Eddie's hair, the other soothingly stroking his tense back, and Eddie cries even harder.

Burying his face wet with tears in Richie's shirt, trying to breathe his scent into his constricting lungs, Eddie snuggles closer to the familiar, warm chest, sinking in Richie’s arms and only distantly hearing a soft whisper in his ear. He clings to his shirt with his fingers, shuddering in soundless cries, and buries his face deeper into Richie's neck, feeling his skin burn where Richie's hands gently hold him in an attempt to calm him.

Eddie doesn't know how long it takes before the tremor that goes through his body with every convulsive sob begins to back down, and he feels Richie lowering him onto the bed, not letting go of his shaking body, and covering him with a blanket, and a soft whisper envelops his mind.

He catches only scraps of words, _shh, I'm right here_ and _it's okay, Eds_ , and tears find their way back into his eyes with renewed vigor. Eddie doesn’t know how much more he can cry, how much more his body can handle it before giving up, but Richie's arms tightly wrapped around him, his warm embrace, the familiar smell and soothing whispers ultimately calm him down.

For the first time in a long time, he falls asleep without a trace of worry. 

***

Only a couple of sunbeams make their way through the closed curtains, their glow soft and warm, unlike the morning sun that just rose, and when Eddie finally wakes up, feeling better than in recent weeks, and at the same time, exhausted, worn out, squeezed to the last drops, for a long moment he can’t fully come to his senses and get a grasp of time.

Closing his eyes and burying his face deeper in the soft pillow, he reaches for the bedside table to pick up his phone and find out what time it is, but bumps his hand into someone next to him.

His eyes still clouded from sleep open in surprise, and a moment later Eddie notices Richie lying next to him.

Their gazes meet, and he still hasn’t got used to it again, to the warmth and calmness that highlights Richie’s expressive eyes always gleaming with emotion, and Eddie can hardly believe that he is still here.

The memories of the previous evening hit him as suddenly as Richie touched him yesterday, and Eddie can’t find words. He remembers how he cried, how he poured out his soul to Richie, shared his dirtiest, most intimate secret, and Richie is still here, still lying next to him in the same bed, inches away, obviously not disgusted by Eddie and his feelings, and looks at him with such warmth that Eddie can feel it on his skin.

Richie's hand, which was previously resting under his face, slowly rises from the pillow and touches Eddie's cheek so tenderly as if he is afraid to frighten him off or doesn’t fully believe that he will not disappear into thin air, as if all this is all a figment of his imagination.

A warm palm covers Eddie's face, sliding the pads of his fingers over his cheekbone, and Eddie fights the urge to close his eyes, allowing himself to drown in Richie's hands.

“Good morning,” Richie whispers, giving him a smile, enveloping and absorbing in warm, familiar, too-good-to-be-true comfort.

Eddie still doesn’t know where they stand, so he doesn’t allow himself to get his hopes up, even if Richie's gaze and his gentle fingers drawing out familiar patterns on Eddie's cheek, are softly nudging to just that.

He really wants to believe that everything is alright.

“Sorry about yesterday, I…” Eddie begins, trailing off when Richie's gaze changes from warm to confused, with a tinge of slight alarm, as if he doesn’t want to hear what will happen next, and Eddie’s anxiety bubbles tight under his skin. “I shouldn't have dumped all of this on you, especially since I hadn't thought about Léa at all. It was so selfish of me, and…”

Richie's hand on his cheek freezes for a moment before grasping his face, making him fall silent. “Léa and I broke up a couple of weeks ago,” he says without looking away, and his voice doesn't sound... upset.

For a moment, Eddie studies his face, as if he is looking for something there that would give out the lie, because he can hardly believe these words, but finds nothing but naked, vulnerable sincerity in Richie's eyes.

“I didn't know,” Eddie whispers, fighting the urge to look away from the sudden embarrassment.

Richie chuckles softly and rolls over onto his shoulder to be face to face with him, his palm still covering Eddie's cheek, caressing his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb and probably noticing how his rosy skin burns under his touch.

“Well, I'd be surprised if you knew,” he says, shrugging with one shoulder. “We haven’t shared much lately.”

After these words, Eddie breaks eye contact, looking down at the remaining space between them and biting his cheek.

However, before that nasty, suffocating feeling of guilt can overcome him again, reminding Eddie that it all happened because of him, and his mind has time to start a chain of thoughts about why Richie and Léa decided to break up— which he absolutely does not want to think about— Richie lifts his chin and forces Eddie to meet his eyes again.

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Eds,” Richie begins softly, and fuck, for the first time in his life Eddie seems to be glad to hear this stupid nickname.

He's having a hard time believing it, given that Richie still hasn't made it clear what he really thinks about what he said last night. “But you still haven't said anything,” Eddie mutters, feeling his cheeks burning in treacherous embarrassment.

And before he can convince himself that Richie just pities him and tries to make it easier for him to accept that they can no longer be friends, just get out of bed and leave his life for good, Richie replies, “I just didn't have the words. Fuck, I didn’t know what to expect, that you found someone else, someone more funny and interesting, and just didn't want to tell me about it and decided to get rid of me, but this is the last thing that I expected to hear.”

That doesn't put Eddie at ease, because he still doesn't understand, and he looks away and whispers, as quietly as possible, “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

“Eds,” Richie interrupts and moves a little closer, touching his cheek with the other hand.

Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from Richie’s shirt, and when both of Richie’s palms clasp his face, tears gather in the corners of his eyes.

He’s so scared, and it’s probably visible on his face, and he’s so tired of being afraid and just wants to bury his face in Richie’s shirt and never let him go, delay the moment when it’s all over, without a chance to resume their friendship which Eddie abandoned. 

He expects something, pity, denial, reassurance that everything is fine, that they can just pretend that nothing happened and continue with their lives. Eddie realizes that this is impossible, that he can’t even look Richie in the eyes for more than a couple of seconds, shackled with shame and regret, this stupid naivety, blind faith in that it will be better if he tells Richie about his feelings, lets it all out.

But that doesn't happen.

“I love you.”

A voice breaks through the thoughts already enveloping Eddie's mind, driving him as deeply into himself as possible, and he looks up into Richie's eyes astonished, gaze sliding over his face as if he is trying to read Richie.

Shock must be written all over Eddie’s face, and he can’t find a single word, break the silence between them.

But Richie doesn't seem to be finished.

“Eds, I’ve loved you for so long that I convinced myself that it can’t be mutual, that you will never look at me like that. And when you confessed to me yesterday, I just couldn't find the words,” he says softly, stroking Eddie's cheekbone. “I think I loved you even before I understood what love was. And I was so afraid that you would notice and wouldn’t want to be my friend that I learned to live with these feelings and just saw other people, and I kept these feelings to myself, not even daring to hope that you would love me back.”

Eddie takes every word as if he’s dying of thirst, having finally gotten to the long-awaited water after months of blindly, aimlessly wandering around the driest desert, and his heart is pounding so fast as it’s about to burst out of his chest, right into Richie's arms, and Eddie doesn’t doubt for even the slightest moment that that’s where it belongs.

And _fuck_ , he thinks. Months, they missed months, _years,_ hiding their feelings behind ridiculous jokes, too long for friendly looks and fear of not getting the same in return. So many lies through gritted teeth. So much wasted time, so much fucking time wasted without _him_.

“God, we are both idiots,” Eddie mutters with a wet laugh, realizing that he is crying again, but these tears are different, and he can’t find his breath for a completely different reason. Richie laughs too, quietly, but no less sincerely, and Eddie feels so warm that it’s hard to believe that all of this is real.

Richie’s eyes fall on his lips, and Eddie trails off, smiling and covering one of Richie's hands with his. “Richie, how could I not love you?” he whispers, leaning into the fingers caressing the corners of his lips, and goosebumps involuntarily cover his skin from the tenderness of every touch, every passing moment.

“Y’know, you chose a very strange way of letting me know,” Richie retorts, returning his smile, just as bright and happy, and Eddie's stomach is once again fluttering with familiar butterflies from the pure adoration in Richie’s gaze.

He doesn't know who leans in first, but a moment later, their lips meet in a kiss, and Eddie can barely contain a sob breaking out of his chest because he never thought it would happen. Richie kisses him softly, but at the same time persistently, and his lips taste sweeter than chocolate, and Eddie just wants to dissolve in him, stay in this moment forever.

When Richie runs his tongue over his lower lip, Eddie doesn’t hold back a soft moan and easily opens his mouth. His skin burns wherever Richie touches him, and he responds to the kiss, burying his fingers in Richie's dark curls to get even closer to him.

Eddie realizes that he is crying as Richie gently breaks the kiss and wipes away a couple of tears from his cheek, frowning slightly and worriedly meeting his eyes. And Eddie wants to convince him that everything is okay, that these are tears of happiness, but he can’t find the words. Richie seems to understand everything anyway, studying his face for a long moment, every feature, as if he can’t get enough, and Eddie smiles and shakes his head before kissing him again.

He follows the sudden impulse and throws a leg over Richie, getting on top of him and not breaking the kiss for a second. Richie moans and deepens the kiss, placing his palms on Eddie's lower back and pulling a quiet whine out of him.

Richie's grip tightens and he pulls away, a soft smile dancing on his lips as Eddie leans forward, not wanting to stop, and Richie sits up on the bed, showering Eddie’s neck with tender kisses, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. Tightening his grip in Richie's hair, Eddie enjoys the groan in return and tilts his head, exposing his neck under Richie's lips and blissfully closing his eyes.

It's so good, feels so amazing, and his already heated body ignites when Richie's hands slide under his shirt, but not daring to go any lower, and Eddie desperately moves his hips and his mouth opens with a moan when he feels Richie's cock through the layers of clothing.

Richie's hands instantly fall to his hips, as if in an attempt to stop him.

“We can take our time, Eds,” Richie whispers, leaving a gentle yet burning kiss behind his ear.

Huffing quietly, Eddie meets his eyes again, hoping Richie will see everything that he can’t say now — they have wasted so much time, and Eddie’s waited too long to stop now, and sees no reason to do so.

“I trust you,” he whispers into Richie’s lips before kissing him again, basking in a moan in return, letting himself drown in him.

Richie's words, so unexpectedly pleasant, almost knocking him off his feet, spin in his head again and again, as if trying to imprint themselves in his mind, the very three words that Eddie didn’t even hope to hear, and he can’t stop smiling into the kiss salty with tears.

He drinks in every touch of their bodies, every sound, a muffled groan or a whisper of words, leaving behind goosebumps all over the skin that burns with something warm and delicate, something Eddie never ever dared to feel. He moves with Richie, slowly getting rid of his clothes, wrapping his arms around Richie's neck and burying his fingers in his hair, while Richie's lips continue to wander over his neck and bare shoulders, as if as if they can’t decide where they want to stay, trying to touch each and every inch of skin. He hears Richie fumbling, followed by the sound of wrapper tearing, but doesn’t turn around, closing his eyes and pressing even closer to him.

Eddie is not scared, not even a bit, feels so calm and happy next to Richie, in his arms that start to slide lower and lower, and a pleasant itch ignites under his skin when he feels a warm finger slicked up in lube from Richie’s wallet circle his hole. 

As carefully as possible sliding into Eddie's slightly tense body to the first knuckle, pausing briefly and then pushing in all the way, Richie soothes the stretch with soft encouragements, covering his slightly open lips with a kiss and swallowing Eddie’s painful hiss when after a couple of long minutes he adds a second finger. A surprised moan falls from Eddie’s lips when a few seconds later Richie finally crooks his fingers and brushes over his prostate.

It seems that he’s buying time, deliberately savoring every moment, and Eddie wants more, wants to drown in Richie, melt into his skin, clings tighter to Richie's shoulders and begins to slowly rock back on the fingers stretching him out, biting his lower lip at the sound of Richie's groan and the way the fingers of his free hand dig into his thighs.

The evening sun, unfortunately, doesn’t reach the bed, and Eddie wants to open the curtains to look into Richie's sunlit eyes, but the next moment any thoughts leave his head when, over the quiet, heat-soaked moans, he hears the sound of a torn condom package.

Richie seems to notice the sudden tension in his body because he brushes a gentle kiss over Eddie's collarbones, and Eddie exhales and buries his face in Richie's neck, lifting his hips, and when the head of Richie's cock touches his rim, sliding between his cheeks, so close and yet still _not quite there_ , a startled whine escapes his lips. With the first smooth thrust, Eddie clutches Richie's shoulders, his head involuntarily lolling back, and opens his mouth on a soundless moan, but a moment later Richie gently cradles his jaw and draws him into an open-mouthed kiss, and his lips are the only thing stopping Eddie from losing himself in the fuzzy feeling traveling through his trembling body.

Clinging to Richie's hair, he drags his nails down his scalp, in response to which he gets a guttural moan, Eddie lifts his hips before fucking himself down onto Richie's cock again, trying to find the right angle so that he can feel that almost unbearable pleasure when the head of Richie’s cock grazes the bundle of nerves inside him.

His body is trembling from the overwhelming feeling of fullness and love engulfing him with every touch of Richie’s hands and every slide of his cock, but it’s still not enough, and Eddie can’t stop his tears as Richie continues to shower his feverish skin with kisses, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” like the purest, most sincere prayer, again and again.

Eddie can hardly breathe, and Richie's hands on his body, his cock inside him and every word, every shameless confession take away his quivering breath. It’s almost too much, in the best and worst way, and Eddie gives in to every touch, meets every thrust, giving Richie full control, trusts him and knows that he is in good hands, right where he should be.

And he returns his confession, whispers the same words into Richie’s skin, so tenderly and intimately, and Eddie would have shouted them from the roof of the tallest building if it meant staying here with Richie like that, forever.

The wonderful stretch burns pleasantly, and his body seems to melt into Richie’s, and Eddie doesn’t even try to hold back his tears, or whines and muffled sobs, and snuggles even closer to Richie. He’s _still_ afraid that all that love, that happiness that now fills him to the brim, can disappear, evaporate at any moment like the most beautiful dream.

But Richie is still here, still holds him like he never wants to let go, setting a slow and therefore exhausting pace, and Eddie feels himself burningly losing touch with reality.

With each thrust, his skin gets tighter, hotter, and with all the love Richie gives him with every kiss and soft touch, almost maddening pleasure blooms under Eddie’s skin, filling him to the tips of his fingers, and Richie's lips taste like their tears and everything that finally splashed out of his wounded, barely beating heart.

Lightly closing his teeth on the delicate skin of Eddie's neck, Richie leaves another mark, licking the reddened skin and soothing the sting. Eddie gasps, feeling like he’s treading on the very edge, a step away from falling apart just from Richie’s lips on his neck and his cock deep inside, filling him just on the right side of too much, hitting his prostate with every well-aimed thrust, and he wants to delay his orgasm, wants to stay here as long as Richie will allow him.

But when Richie’s lips find his for a kiss, his tongue pulling out a sweet moan from Eddie’s throat, and smoothly pushes into Eddie’s body as deep as he can go, deeper than he’d gone all night, and stills his hips to let Eddie really feel it. Eddie feels his mind slipping away at the slow rolls of his hips, knocking the rest of the oxygen out of his constricting lungs, and his lips part with a loud moan when he comes, clinging to Richie's shoulders and arching his back, as if his body wants to be even closer to Richie, lighting up like a livewire. A couple of moments later, with Eddie’s body involuntarily clenching around him, Richie follows after him, spilling into the condom and burying his face in Eddie's neck.

For a long couple of minutes, they can’t find their breath, savoring the last drops of the shivery heat smoothly leaving their bodies, and Eddie wraps his arms around Richie's neck and presses their foreheads together, a sincere, soft smile on his red-bitten lips.

“I love you,” he whispers again, meeting Richie’s eyes, and sees the same love, the same happiness there, and kisses him, again and again, smiling into the kiss and feeling Richie smile in return.

Eddie can’t and doesn’t want to find words to describe how he feels now — apart from a slight sting in his thighs and the tingling sensation where Richie left his marks on his skin, and he feels happier than in his entire life.

“Don't ever leave me again,'' Richie says quietly as they lie back down on the bed, still not letting go of each other, and fuck, Eddie can't even find the strength to resent this ridiculous thought, so he just shakes his head and gently touches Richie’s brow, tucking a dark curly lock behind his ear.

“Okay,” he whispers back. “Never.”

***

It's hard to say if Derry has changed in four years — all the same hackneyed streets, the battered signboard of the only cinema and the Barrens laced with the happiest moments of their childhood.

This town may not stand a chance to change for the better, but one thing Eddie knows for sure.

They have changed.

After graduation, the Losers decided to return to Derry for a couple of days, some to visit their family, and some just for the company, because despite all the unpleasant things that happened here, this place also carries so many warm memories that it was hard to say no.

Eddie feels like a different person when, for the first time in years, he walks along familiar streets, and distantly hears their childlike laughter, remembers their scraped knees and summer days full of happiness and dotish joy.

Despite everything that happened to him here as a child, Eddie can’t deny that it was thanks to this town that he became the person he is now, met the people closest to him and found real happiness.

Richie laughing happily at the sight of the Arcade makes him smile so hard that his cheeks involuntarily begin to ache until Richie squeezes his hand in his and pulls Eddie in, begging him to play at least a round, like in the _good old days_.

And Eddie doesn’t think about the fact that it’s Derry, doesn’t think about possible prying eyes, because all this doesn’t matter — it’s such a trifle compared to what he feels next to Richie, _thanks_ to Richie, and his heart pounds in his chest every time Eddie looks at him and thinks about how lucky he is.

If it wasn't for this town, for Bowers and his slightly insane mother, Eddie wouldn’t have been here now, wouldn’t have met Richie, like the rest of the Losers, and this is the only thing for which he is grateful to this place.

They spend the three days that they came to Derry for hiking in places where they loved to spend time as children, warmly recalling everything, pleasant or not, through what they had to go, both together and separately.

Eddie realizes that this trip is a kind of an end, an invisible line between childhood and adult life, and he can’t get rid of the thought that before flying back to California, he will leave a part of himself here forever. It's not that he is against it, no, because soon he and Richie will move into their apartment together, their _home_ , and a new stage of life will begin, which Eddie really can’t wait for, but something still doesn’t feel right.

On the last day, a couple of hours before departure, when everyone has already packed up and are preparing to leave for the airport, Richie texts him with a request to meet at the Barrens.

Eddie is a little surprised because he doesn't really want to miss the plane, but agrees because he knows that Richie wouldn’t have called him there for nothing.

“Richie?”

It takes some time, but soon Eddie comes to the familiar street leading towards the Barrens and the clubhouse, and notices a silhouette standing further along the road.

Richie turns at his voice and waves his hand, calling Eddie to him, and he sighs and, glancing at his watch out of the corner of his eye, heads towards Richie.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks when he stops next to him.

Richie's hand finds his, and Eddie wants to meet his gaze, but can't, because Richie is looking somewhere ahead of them.

“I just wanted to show you something before we leave,” he replies, finally turning his head, and an excited smile touches the corners of his lips.

Frowning, Eddie’s about to ask what it is, but then his eyes fall on the railing of the bridge, which at first he did not even pay attention to.

Only now does he finally realize where they are, and Eddie can't help but gasp.

The Kissing Bridge.

A new question is already brewing in his head — what is it that Richie wanted to show him here, but a moment later Richie raises his hand and touches the upper railing of the bridge.

Hundreds of notches, letters carved into the wood, incomprehensible symbols and uncensored expressions, but Eddie's eyes only see a single one.

_“R + E.”_

“I did it when we were thirteen,” Richie says, not taking his eyes off him and squeezing his hand a little tighter, and he feels how his palm is sweating, as if in excitement. “I just thought that I should show it to you.”

Eddie wants to answer, wants to say at least something, to remove the tremor in Richie's unusually quiet voice, but can’t find the words. When Richie, on that April evening, almost two and a half years ago, confessed that he loved him even before he knew what it was, Eddie couldn't even think that he was serious.

That Richie really had feelings for him when they were children, and he found no other way out but to perpetuate them in a place where hundreds of teenagers poured out their souls, because then this was considered the peak, the most reliable indicator of true love.

That Richie, being a loud, but at the same time such a secretive teenager in a town full of hatred, denial and judgment, carved their initials into the Kissing Bridge, because he didn't know where else to pour out his feelings.

Because it seemed like the only way out.

Because he loved Eddie and was afraid to tell him, afraid to ruin their friendship, which he held so close to his heart, even if he longed for something more with all his being, to be even _closer,_ and God, how much time they wasted.

But they have now, have already spent two and a half years together, and Eddie treasures every moment, every day spent next to Richie, and will never let him go, not after all those obstacles and trials, sleepless nights and pillows soaked with pain and one-sided love, through which they had to go to finally get to what they both so ardently desired, not even suspecting that it was mutual all along.

Richie's gaze doesn’t leave his astonished face for a moment, and Eddie can’t tear his own eyes from the symbols carved into the bridge, so simple and barely noticeable after all these years, but no less significant.

Taking a pocket knife from his jeans pocket, Richie squats down and, taking a deep breath, re-carves out their initials, one by one, delicately refreshing his declaration of love, which no one was destined to hear back then. Eddie finally lets out a breath only when Richie gets to his feet, putting the knife in his pocket, and takes his hand again.

“I loved you then,” Richie says softly, squeezing his hand, because he seems to understand that Eddie can't find words, “and I love you now.”

A blinding smile touches Eddie's lips, and a moment later he finally turns to Richie patiently waiting for his reaction and draws him into a kiss, which he wants to express everything he feels right now with.

What he feels every day thanks to him.

Slightly trembling palms touch his waist, and Richie hugs him even closer, and Eddie puts his hands around Richie’s neck, breaking the kiss and resting their foreheads together.

“Thank you for showing me.”

Richie leaves a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, and Eddie doesn't hold back the urge to frown, which makes Richie smile. It dazzles with sincere happiness, joyful and full of adoration and love, and Eddie hopes that that smile will always be there.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking a ride on this emotional rollercoaster  
> If y'all shed at least one tear, I got what I was aiming for!  
> Here's my [ tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aintguiltyy) in case you want to yell at me or maybe give me a virtual hug xx


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